The Final Education of Ronald Weasley
by AngelaJean
Summary: Ron/Hermione romance with first times. M for mature reading. Scenes of an adult nature. After The Battle and the end of Deathly Hallows, my favourite two characters return to Hogwarts for a few, glorious weeks of exploring. Go Ron! The sexiest person in the magical world. Oh, to be eighteen again and to spend some time with the fantastic youngest Weasley male ...
1. Chapter 1 Learning about Business

**The Final Education of Ronald Weasley**

_Ron/Hermione romance with first times. M for mature reading. Scenes of an adult nature._

_After The Battle and the end of Deathly Hallows, my favourite two characters return to Hogwarts for a few, glorious weeks of exploring._

_Go Ron! The sexiest person in the magical world. Oh, to be eighteen again and to spend some time with the fantastic youngest Weasley male ..._

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters etc etc which are the property of Ms. Rowling and various companies. I do not own unconfident, naive, oh-so-sweet-and-sexy Ron Weasley. Unfortunately._

**Chapter 1 – Learning about Business**

Ron heaved a sigh of relief and pushed his wand into the back pocket of his jeans. The re-stocking of the shop was finally finished and hundreds of cardboard boxes were now neatly ordered, catalogued and stacked on the shelves of George's stockroom.

Ron stretched and yawned, his back aching and - more importantly - his tummy rumbling. Even with magic, helping George in the shop was hard work. He'd been hard at it for a week now, sorting stock and generally trying to be useful. It really was a two man job, running Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

His tummy growled ominously as Ron picked up the stock list he'd been working on and turned towards the door. Hard work alright; bloody hell, he was hungry. Ron wondered for the umpteenth time how George was going to manage now that Fred was gone.

He turned as George came into the stock room, balancing a large cardboard box on the end of his wand.

"Last one, little bro'," George said with a smile as he waved his wand and the box carefully positioned itself on top of a stack of others. "All done!"

George pretended to wipe his brow.

"Phew! We're good to go. The shelves are full, the shop is clean and I'm ready to start back in business. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is up and running again. Hundreds of galleons, lots of _ve-ry_ pretty customers, stacks of business awards to please Mum - here I come!"

Ron grinned broadly at his brother. It was nearly six weeks now since the battle, nearly six weeks since Fred had been killed and George's world had been turned upside down - but here he was, smiling, busy and looking forward to re-opening the shop. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the twin's pride and joy into which, Ron knew, they had both poured heart and soul. Fred and George's big success, much to everyone's surprise.

George's success alone, now.

"Ahh," George continued, "Time to celebrate the fruits of our hard labour, little Ronnie."

From the pocket of his overalls George produced with a flourish two bottles of butterbeer.

"Let's take a pew," he grinned as they sat down on a large box each. "It's been a hard week. Thanks for helping, Ron." George pulled out the cork of his butterbeer and raised the bottle to his lips. "Cheers!"

He winked at Ron, "Don't start thinking you can sneak any products out of the door though, just because you've been grafting here! I saw you eyeing up those Enlargement Candies. Don't want to give Hermione a fright now when you two get friendly down at the end of the garden ..."

Ron quickly took a thirsty gulp. Enlargement Candies? Was that something else that he needed to worry about when it came to him and Hermione?

"George," he said, "I've been thinking - "

"Has to be a first time, mate," George interrupted, "I know it's hard, but once you get used to it you'll soon be having thoughts quite easily, as regular as clockwork!" George grinned.

"Git!" No, listen, I've been thinking about the shop. It's been great helping you this week... "

"Liar!" George interrupted again, "You're not used to hard work and you've grumbled every day. My little bro's not cut out for the world of business and trading, I think!"

"Let me finish!" Ron said, "You're right, this shop is hard work. I go back to Hogwarts in a few days' time. How are you going to manage by yourself? How are you going to do it all, George, now that Fred's ..." Ron broke off, not meeting George's eye. He took a swig of butterbeer and hoped that there would be a time soon when he would be able to mention his brother's name to George without feeling awkward.

"Now that Fred's gone, you mean," George finished the sentence for him.

"Yeah, well ..." Ron shrugged his shoulders, "It's going to be different for you, here in the shop, running the business ... without him."

George grinned at Ron. He knew that all of the family were concerned about him, were worried that he would struggle on his own. And he understood why they were worried; why his mother kept staring at him when she thought he wasn't looking and why she was cooking all of his favourite meals. Why Ron had volunteered to help at the shop when he only had a few days left before returning to school, why Charlie had flown in unexpectedly last week all the way from Romania and taken him out for a heavy night's drinking.

He loved that they all fussed over him, each in their own way and while trying desperately not to let him see how concerned they were. Even Hagrid had been for a visit yesterday, knocking down three shelves of exploding goods while trying to help clean the ceiling.

"Relax, mate," he said, "You know, I think I'm going to be fine. I mean, it'll take some getting used to, not having Fred around, but I've managed so far." George smiled, with a twinkle in his eye, "And you know, he always used to get all the best girls, something about his devilish good charm, he used to tell me. So now that he's gone maybe I'll have more luck with the ladies ...!"

George leant backwards and popped his feet up on another box, his hands behind his head.

"Maybe I'll take a crack at Angelina Johnson, she's rounded in a very nice way in _all_ of the right places, if you know what I mean. I always thought she preferred me really to Fred."

Ron grinned and shook his head. George was slowly emerging out of those first weeks of grief for Fred and was starting to get back on his feet. Not to say that he wasn't still hurting inside, deeply hurting, Ron knew that. He had seen George's pain first hand, had felt it himself, had heard him crying in his bedroom at night and seen the lost look on his face. He knew that life for George would never be quite the same without his twin. They had been inseparable, had shared _everything_ including girlfriends, and had known each other's thoughts better than their own. Rebuilding his life without his twin would take George some time.

Ron sipped at his butterbeer and sneaked a glance at his brother's face. Probably George's life would never be as good as it had been with his other half beside him, someone always there who thought and felt the same, someone to share triumphs with, someone to laugh with when things didn't work out quite as planned. But perhaps, hopefully and with all joking aside, George _was_ going to be alright.

The first week after the battle, George had kept to the bedroom he had shared with his twin at The Burrow for nineteen years, only appearing for meals. The second week had seen Fred's funeral, something Ron didn't like to think about too much. Lee Jordan had stayed on at The Burrow for a few days afterwards and he and George had gone out to Muggle pubs every night, arriving home very late - and very drunk. Mrs Weasley hadn't moaned at George once, much to her credit, though Ron knew how hard that must have been for her.

The third week George had seemed quiet but okay, mixing with the family as usual and disappearing to spend a few days at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur. When he returned, much to his mother's relief, he seemed almost back to his normal, joking, disrespectful self.

On the outside at least. Ron didn't want to think about how George was feeling on the inside. George was good at putting on a brave face for the world, too good. He'd emerged from his bedroom one day last week, wearing overalls and announcing that he was going back to the shop and to his flat. Ron knew how much his mother was worrying about him. But he also knew that George _was_ going to be alright eventually, never quite the same as before, perhaps never quite as bright but - alright.

But running this shop by himself was a big task. Ron struggled to find the words he wanted to say.

"Look, George," he started, "I ... I don't have to ...,"

He took another swig of butterbeer. "I don't have to go back to Hogwarts, you know. I could - stay with you, help you run the shop, stay at your place for a bit."

George laughed out loud as he swung his feet back onto the floor and sat up straight.

"Nice try, mate," he said, "Listen, I'm going to be fine, you know. I feel much better than I did last week, and a whole lot better than I did the week before that. I'm going to run this shop by myself, make a good go of it, and celebrate by blowing all of the profits in all sorts of ways that I know Fred would approve of."

"Are you sure? How will you get everything done by yourself?"

"I'm sure. I'll manage. But thanks for the offer, little bro."

George stood up and took Ron's empty butterbeer bottle out of his hand.

"Anyway, can you see Mum letting you miss out on your N.E.W.T.S.? Or Hermione letting you miss your last lessons at school? Plus we need you there, even if it's only for a short time, keeping an eye on our Little Miss Independent and her wizarding-hero boyfriend. Ginny was bad enough before, but now that Harry's saved the world there'll be no stopping her. Your brotherly steady influence is needed, before we both become uncles at far too early an age!"

George led the way out of the stockroom and up a flight of stairs to the flat above the shop.

"Nice try at escaping returning to Hogwarts, Ron. But as we both know, it's a big fat 'you haven't got a chance'!"

Ron followed his brother up the stairs. In four days time he'd be back at school. Hogwarts had been closed for six weeks to repair the buildings and to give time to everyone to recover – and to attend funerals. Ron had been to eleven, Hermione and Harry at his side. Fred's hadn't been the worse. Little Colin Creevey's had been terrible and how he had got through Lupin and Tonks' he'd never know. Their baby, Teddy, had been crying loudly as the service came to an end and Mrs Tonks had led them all out of the graveyard, holding tightly onto the baby for dear life.

There were rumours that there had been one more funeral connected to the battle, one which wasn't announced in The Daily Prophet - Voldemort's, conducted out at sea by the Ministry. Ron didn't know who, if anyone, had been invited to that one. Well, who would want to go?

The school year had been extended into the start of the usual summer break to accommodate the students who had missed some schooling while the Carrows and Snape had been in charge. The O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S. exams would take place at the end of July instead of the usual start of June to enable pupils to catch up with their learning.

The trouble was, he and Hermione and Harry hadn't missed _some_ schooling this year, like Neville or Luna. They'd missed _all_ of it. Returning to Hogwarts was going to be difficult enough, what with everything that had taken place there. Fitting back into being a schoolboy and being told what to do all of the time after nine months living on the run was going to be hard, even if he was only going to be at school for two months. Wearing his uniform again and acting as a normal teenager at school? That could be difficult.

But returning to studying and catching up with months of learning before sitting his N.E.W.T.S ? All in two months? Impossible.

Hermione had started worrying about it already. Getting top grades had always been important to her and Ron knew that she was going to be studying flat out when they returned to school. Bloody hell, he thought as he collapsed into an armchair in George's flat, he didn't get a chance to spend enough time alone with her as it was, let alone once she started studying for the N.E.W.T.S.

Once her parents had decided that finishing school was important for Hermione, and having a short spell at being a 'normal teenager' at school too, his future for the next two months had been set. He couldn't let her return on her own. Plus he would need a full time job soon, finances being what they were in his family, and he would have to have a crack at the bloody N.E.W.T.S. His father had already said that the Ministry would take his 'extenuating circumstances' into consideration when he applied for Auror training but Ron wasn't too sure just how far 'I helped the great Harry Potter' would get him in an interview ...

"Turn the _thing_ on, Ron," said George as he sprawled onto the sofa, "You know, the tell-o-vision thing. I ike the football, even if it is slower than Quidditch."

Ron walked over to a large Muggle television George and Fred had bought for a laugh when they moved into the flat above the shop. Mr Weasley had been thrilled and kept sneaking over to try and see how it worked. It had been returned to the Muggle shop for repairs twice already after he'd had 'a quick look' at it.

Ron settled back into the armchair and closed his eyes. His thoughts flew straight away to Hermione, as they always did whenever he had five minutes to himself. The sounds of the football match on the large screen began to fade.

Once he'd got over the initial shock of returning to school and if he ever survived the N.E.W.T.S. and all of that studying, it might be quite nice to spend the last few weeks of school with her at Hogwarts. There would be the usual Leavers Ball to finish the year. She would wear a pretty dress and they could dance together and have a laugh. He wouldn't mess it up like he had at the Yule Ball when they'd been fourth years. And there'd be graduation with nice photos and everything, his mum would like that.

And hopefully there would be some time to disappear together into the grounds or into an empty classroom here and there. That would be something good to look forward to. After Fred's funeral when life had started to return to a little bit of normality, they'd spent quite a lot of time together at the end of the garden at The Burrow. Quite a few warm nights under the trees. And in Hermione's bedroom at her house when her parents had been out at work.

Things in that department were working out very nicely. Very nicely indeed. He was finally doing all of the things he had wanted to do with her for the past three years. Well, not quite all of the things yet, but give him time.

Last night had been particularly promising. Ron grinned to himself as he thought about being in the garden with Hermione the night before, her head against his chest and her hand somewhere else.

He wondered if George had any snacks in the flat as his stomach rumbled again ...


	2. Chapter 2 Learning How to Clean

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters etc etc which are the property of Ms. Rowling and various companies. I do not own unconfident, naive, oh-so-sweet-and-sexy Ron Weasley. Unfortunately._

**Chapter Two – Learning How to Clean**

"Ronald Weasley, _where_ is your hand going?" Hermione murmured softly as she pulled her mouth away from his.

Ron grinned. One of the great things about this time of year was that Hermione had started to wear skirts and dresses. He appreciated seeing her long, slim legs – and it certainly made access easier to certain places. He quite understood why women didn't wear trousers in bygone times. Jeans for girls should be made illegal, in his humble opinion.

He continued working his hand up her long, smooth thigh. God, he loved her legs. You could run your hand along them and they felt great. Plus they led to ... He could imagine them wrapped around him while he ...

Ron stopped himself just in time from this mental image. Better not to think too hard about _that_ right now, or a certain something would become too hard and then he'd be in trouble again.

He'd had a few difficulties with _control_ just lately. They would be kissing quite nicely, his hands would start wandering_, her_ hands would start wandering which was very distracting and all of a sudden that was it, control lost completely, and a nice mess to try and clean up with his wand without her noticing.

He'd learned to perfect a little quiet swirl with his wand behind her back while kissing her and he didn't think that she'd noticed yet, but he had to get a grip on the problem. He was eighteen for Merlin's sake, it wasn't like they hadn't been kissing and everything else for a few weeks now. He should be much better by this stage at averting little mishaps. The trouble was, once her hand started wandering he got much too excited ...

"Oh, Ron," Hermione breathed as his hand moved up and came to rest between her thighs.

That was one of the wonderful things about Hermione, Ron thought, as he began to gently move his hand backwards and forwards across the lace of her underwear. His practical, rational Hermione wore very girly, very lacy things _underneath_. She was Miss Practical to the outside world, and he hadn't believed it when he'd first been brave enough to move his hand _down_ _there_. If he'd thought about it at all, he'd expected practical, cotton underwear like the sort that Mum bought for Ginny. But his hand had met silk and lace.

He thought that was _very_ sexy, his Miss Prim and Proper on the surface actually wearing amazing things underneath. But that was what Hermione was like generally when they were together like this. Sexy. And wicked. Very sexy and wicked. Who would have thought...

"Ron," she murmured again as he moved his hand up to the top of her underwear and placed his hand flat on her stomach. She arched against his hand, pushing her hips upwards and kissing him hard. He felt her tongue rasping in and out, rubbing against his.

Bloody hell, this was brilliant. Last night he thought he was going to explode for a second time in one evening when she'd let him touch her. He'd already had one accident when she'd let him undo her bra and she'd made those little noises. Blimey, that had been - those noises she'd made - it had pushed him right over the edge.

However daring he was, Hermione never said no or stopped him. It was as if she liked him being in charge in this one area of their life. It was about the only thing that she didn't try to control. He always led the pace, taking it slow but moving their sessions together one step closer each time. Closer to ... and she always let him. Another interesting thing about his Miss Bossy, his Miss Practical, his Miss Prim and Proper - his Miss Naughty Underwear.

Her hands were moving. One hand was on his chest, moving downwards; now it was on his stomach, still moving downwards...

He'd have to put a stop to that or he'd lose it again!

Distraction tactics were needed. He reached over and moved her hand up to his shoulder and rolled her over further.

"No," he said, "I'm busy. Very busy _down there_. You have to lie still and let me finish what I'm starting. Yes?"

Hermione gazed up into his face. "Yes, Ron," she said and obediently held onto his shoulder, "Yes."

She smiled up at him and he kissed her again, long and hard.

Hermione loved the things that he was doing to her each time they came together. He made her feel – beautiful. Wonderful. Daring. He looked so handsome tonight with his bright red hair falling over one eye. It made her feel squirmy inside, his hair. It curled by his ears and was so thick. She loved to touch it.

He was wearing his favourite Cannons t-shirt today. It was far too tight for him now and clung to his long, muscly frame in all of the right places. He had certainly _developed_ just lately, her Ron. His shoulders were broad and strong. His arms had gently bulging muscles from playing Quidditch. His thighs were huge, powerful. Mmmmmm.

Hermione sighed and pushed against his roving hand. What exactly was he going to do to her now? What wonderful, delicious, scandalous thing?

Her breasts were pushing against his chest, crying out for Ron to touch them. She liked it when he did that, when he slid his hands under her bra and stroked and gently kneaded. He liked it too.

His hand moved slowly down her stomach until it rested on the edge of her knickers. Then slowly, so slowly, so that she would have time to stop him if she wanted to, Ron daringly slid his hand under the lace.

He'd wanted to do this last night. Would she let him touch her?

Hermione held her breathe. Her eyes were closed. Ron grinned to himself. Ah ha, so she liked this, his prim and proper little witch.

He liked pleasing her. Sometimes he couldn't decide which was best about their kissing sessions, the great way it made his body feel - or the way he felt inside because he knew _she_ liked it too.

Perhaps both were best, pleasing him _and_ pleasing her. The two were sort of bound up. He felt proud when he pleased her, and lucky. Lucky that she let him kiss her and touch her. Him – plain, lanky, not-a-hero-like-Harry, youngest brother, usually crap at things - him! Well, it was a bloody miracle really when you thought about it.

He was very pleased that he seemed to be good at what they were doing, relieved. That had been a big worry at first, hoping that he was doing things right.

But it turned out that he was actually quite good at this. Other than completely losing it in his jeans each time they went a little bit further, of course.

Seamus and Dean had been very vocal in the Gryffindor dormitory last year about the things they got up to with girls. He hadn't done any of the things they had talked about when he was going out with Lavender Brown, not that she hadn't been willing. Very willing, really. And he knew that his Hermione hadn't done any of this with Krum either. Well, he didn't _think_ that she had - no, not his Hermione!

Now, if he remembered right, there was a little something down there that he was supposed to find and rub ...

Hermione sighed and turned her face into his shoulder, her breathing growing deeper.

"Ron!" he heard and grew even harder. Merlin's beard, there'd be another session of silent wand waving and cleaning up in a minute at this rate.

He moved his fingers through her curls. Gently pressing against her, he found a very hot spot and moved his forefinger backwards and forwards over it.

Was this right? Was this what he was supposed to do? It felt right.

He quickly glanced up to Hermione's face. Oh my, she was _so_ sexy. Hermione squirmed and sighed. Ron felt her wetness against his fingers. His breathing was out of control now, his bulging crotch pressing against her side as he continued gently rubbing. She was making soft noises and rocking against his hand.

She was so bloody hot down there, so hot and wet and slippery.

"Mione, are you OK?" he breathed into her ear, "Is this OK?"

"Gosh, Ron, you're making me feel ... wonderful!"

Right then, he wouldn't stop just yet. He paused, loving the way he was in charge, calling the shots.

"Maybe we've gone far enough for tonight, 'Mione. I don't want to rush you into things."

"Ron! Can you just ... you know ..."

It was music to his ears. And to other parts of his anatomy.

She arched her back and his hand moved so that one finger was right by her. Should he push inside? Inside her! Would she like that? He knew _he_ would. He moved his finger forward gently. She pushed against him. Did she want this?

"Ron," Hermione murmured into his shoulder, "Ron ... "

She did want this; OK then. Right, here goes. He slid his finger gently and slowly inside her, so slowly, all of the way. Hermione gasped and wriggled.

Blimey, this felt good, making her squirm like this. She was so wet, her breasts were rubbing against his t-shirt and he could feel her hard little nipples ...

It was all warm and tight around his finger and soft and velvety. His finger felt too large and she felt so small. She was actually letting him do this to her! He moved his finger gently in and out. He was straining desperately against his jeans.

Merlin's beard, he wished it wasn't his finger going in and out down there but something else instead; what would _that_ feel like? Hermione suddenly made a little, high sound and her muscles went tight around his finger.

"Ron!" she cried and she was very wet now, gushing. He'd got it right; had he just made her -? And he was rubbing his crotch against her side and he couldn't breathe and she was so wet and soft and ... and ...

And with a rush he had lost it again in his jeans. Blimey. Bloody hell. Merlin's beard - Merlin's beard and Merlin's testicles and Merlin's everything else as well.

That had felt great! He'd made her - hadn't he? She was cuddling into him now and nuzzling into his neck.

One hand still upon her, he silently reached with the other for his wand. Cleaning up time. Again.


	3. Chapter 3 Learning to Apologise

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters etc etc which are the property of Ms. Rowling and various companies. I do not own unconfident, naive, oh-so-sweet-and-sexy Ron Weasley. Unfortunately._

**Chapter Three – Learning to Apologise**

The late afternoon sun was still bright as it glanced off of the long, library windows and shone straight into his eyes. Ron grimaced and twisted round in his chair, moving closer to the wooden desk.

Bloody sunshine, he thought, as he bent once more over his Potions textbook. Bloody sunshine, bloody sodding library and Hogwarts and bloody, stinking N.E.W.T.S. He stretched out his shoulders as he reached for a new quill and grumpily started to look for a bottle of ink in his satchel.

And that's not to mention bloody, know-it-all Hermione too, he thought as he found what he needed in his bag. If he was having a moan, he might as well stick Hermione's name in there as well.

He unscrewed the top of the ink bottle and placed it next to his roll of parchment. Sod it, he swore quietly to himself – even when he was trying not to think about her, she still crept into his thoughts.

His head ached as he re-read the page on medicinal potions for the third time. Not a word of the ingredients or correct methods for mixing the potions was sinking into his brain. He was hot, tired and very fed up.

The tie loosely knotted around his neck was driving him mad and he wished he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans instead of his scratchy school uniform. It didn't even fit him properly any more, he moaned to himself, as he half-heartedly started to copy out a potion to cure dragon pox. Why couldn't his mum have got him some new uniform? He knew the reasons why, but still - it all felt too tight. He'd grown a lot in the year since he'd last had to wear it.

As if he would ever need to know how to cure dragon pox anyway! That was what St Mungo's was for if any of his children ever caught the bloody disease. He wrote down the list of ingredients needed. And this potion was what his wife would need to know about, not him.

Hah! He grimaced to himself again. Children ... wife? What _was_ he thinking about!

Nearby he could hear the scratching of Harry's pen as his friend worked hard on the other side of the desk they were sharing. Harry was making notes on Charms, a slight smile on his face as he scribbled away. And I bet I know what you're smiling about over there, Ron scowled to himself, staring at the top of Harry's head. Smarmy git.

He's seen Harry sneaking out again last night with Ginny into the castle grounds and heard him coming back into the dormitory they shared late into the night, hours after he'd climbed into bed himself. Ron grimaced. He didn't want to think too closely about what Harry and his sister might be getting up to every night in the warm, sheltered grounds of the castle. If it was anything like the things that he and Hermione got up to - well, she was his little sister after all and it just didn't bear thinking about.

Good thing that Ginny was going out with Harry really, Ron mused as he continued to stare absent minded at Harry's head bent over his parchment. If it had been anyone else he would have punched him by now and threatened Ginny with telling Mum exactly what she was getting up to.

The five weeks that he, Hermione and Harry had spent back at school so far had been just as difficult as Ron had predicted they would be. It was very difficult to follow school rules again. It was very strange trying to remember not to perform magic outside of lessons. Although in some ways it was nice to return for a last, final few weeks at Hogwarts, the cons were definitely outweighing the pros. From walking past the places where people had died during the Battle to wearing this stupid uniform again, returning here had not been easy.

As well as everything that had happened, he'd kind of outgrown being at school now. The months of freedom chasing Horcruxes had seen to that.

Seeing his best friend being happy with his sister was a bright spot and Ron had decided long ago not to begrudge Harry being with Ginny. At least one of them was having some success in love, unlike him and Hermione.

At the desk on the other side of him, Neville stood up and started to pack his books away into his large satchel.

"That's me finished for today," he said to Ron as he moved to place some Herbology books back onto a shelf. "Five chapters turned into notes should please Professor Sprout, I think. Are you coming to the Great Hall for dinner yet, Ron? Harry?"

Harry looked up from his notes.

"Just finishing off this page, Neville," he answered, "Then I'll be down. See you there."

"Righty - o, see you later." Neville finished packing away his things and left.

Ron sighed. Time for him to pack up as well.

His stomach rumbled noisily as he reached for his bag. Why was he always hungry? Ron began to grumpily throw his books inside the satchel. Had he swallowed a tape worm as a child or something and no-one had ever bothered to tell him? He looked over at Harry.

"Hurry up then, mate. My stomach feels like my throat's been cut!"

Harry grinned. He'd known Ron for nearly seven years and he'd always been exactly the same, obsessed with food. Not that you would ever know it to look at him. Ron remained as lanky as ever. He was much taller than Harry now, towering over him when they stood side by side, and he'd filled out a lot with shoulders and chest now wide and broad. Not that it mattered to Harry. Ginny seemed to like him just the way that he was and that was all that he cared about really. And size wasn't everything, as she kept reassuring him.

"Did you finish the Potions chapter? I'm nearly ready to swop notes on Charms chapter six."

Ron looked guilty. He and Harry had decided to divide their revision in half in these two subjects and it had seemed a good idea at the time. Ron would study half of Potions and Charms, Harry would study the other half and they would swop notes. They were rapidly running out of time now before the N.E.W.T.S. exams and every way that they could think of to make their workload lighter really mattered.

"Sorry, mate." Ron scowled down at his shoes, "I've nearly finished. I just couldn't concentrate today, you know, what with the bloody sunshine and ... and what with everything else," he finished lamely.

"What, like falling out with Hermione, you mean."

They started to walk out of the library and towards the main staircase.

"Look mate, it doesn't matter. I can work on that chapter tonight. Ginny's going to be with some of the other sixth year girls and my presence definitely wouldn't be welcome."

They started to walk down the staircase.

"But that doesn't mean I can do your half of the study notes as well as my own and still make a good job of it. We're running out of time!"

They were separated for a moment as a group of lively first years rushed past them, running down the stairs and towards the Great Hall.

"Oi!" shouted Ron as the first years raced away, "Watch where you're going! Show some respect can't you! We _are_ seventh years you know!"

One of the boys glanced around as he dashed across to the doors of the Great Hall.

"Sorry, Ron!" he called out, "Sorry, Mr Potter!"

"Typical," Ron grumbled as they reached the bottom of the flight of stairs, "Bloody typical. Why am I just 'Ron' to those little oiks but you're 'Mr Potter'? It doesn't seem right somehow, mate!"

Harry grinned. He knew that Ron didn't mean it – and that Ron was trying to change the subject. He saw Ginny with Luna Lovegood walking into the Hall.

Hermione was trailing a little way behind them, looking glum. Her satchel was hanging crookedly off of her shoulder and she was walking very slowly, always a sign that Hermione was feeling a little off colour as she normally walked very purposefully.

"Stop changing the subject, Ron," Harry continued, "Look, there's Hermione. She wasn't in the library today again." Harry shot a side glance at Ron. "Any reason for that, do you think?"

Hermione looked up as Harry said her name and Ron saw across the entrance hall how sad her face looked as she walked slowly along.

"Hey, Hermione!" called Harry, "Hermione, come over here!"

Ron looked nervously at his friend. What was Harry doing?

"I don't want to talk to her, Harry!" he whispered out of the side of his mouth as Hermione started to walk across the entrance hall.

"Oh yes you do, Ron. You two _really_ need to talk. For the sake of my sanity. It's been a week now, hasn't it? So yes, you do want to talk to her. For lots of reasons."

Ron opened his mouth to speak but Harry carried on.

"Reason number one, we have only three weeks left till our exams and I need a study partner who can actually do some studying instead of mooning around looking out of the library window and sighing. Like you've been doing all week since you argued with Hermione."

"I have not!" whispered Ron as Hermione drew closer.

"Yes you have, Ron, and you know it," Harry continued. "Reason number two, we need Hermione's help if we're going to pass any of these N.E.W.T.S. and you know what the atmosphere will be like if we try to study together while you two aren't talking."

"Yeah, well, she started it, it's not like I'm not talking to _her_," Ron exclaimed sulkily, looking hurt.

"If she started it, then you can end it. Reason number three: I know that you love her and that she loves you and that you're both very good for each other."

Ron's mouth gaped. "I ... we... " he blustered.

"And finally," Harry whispered as Hermione moved in front of them, "Reason number four is that you're like a troll with a sore head when she's not regularly kissing you senseless and whatever else you two get up to. So just bloody well make up with her so that we can all return to being vaguely happy again, OK?"

Harry turned to Hermione as Ron's mouth fell open to protest.

"Hermione," Harry said as he passed her and moved towards the Hall, "Ron's very sorry for anything which he may have said that upset you last week and he wants to apologise."

Ron's mouth gaped open even wider.

"Actually," Harry added as he left them and turned towards the door of the Great Hall, "Ron has just said that he would like to miss dinner and take you for a nice stroll by the lake instead so that you two can thrash out whatever happened. Didn't you Ron?"

Harry disappeared too quickly into the Hall to see the look of astonishment on Ron's face. He hoped that they would return to being friendly again soon. He was used to the two of them arguing and even occasionally having a period of not talking at all, like this past week. But it could become very wearing and he had other things on his mind right now. Like exams and Ginny, and the future after Hogwarts in a few weeks time...

Hermione turned towards Ron on the bottom stair as Ron's stomach growled ominously.

"Hello Ronald," she said, her words sounding very cold. Her arms were folded over her chest and she was looking away from him as she spoke in a very off-hand way.

"Harry thinks that you want to speak to me."

Ron felt his insides shrivel. He would kill Harry later, the git. Kill him very slowly. He knew lots of really good curses now, thanks to the last year. Hermione tapped her foot impatiently on the ground.

"Well, Ronald? Is that what you want to do? Walk with me by the lake, or would you rather go and eat your dinner?"

Ron stared down at her. He could tell that she was still very angry with him even after a week. Her arms were folded over her chest and she was sticking her nose up into the air as she spoke.

Blimey, she looked great when she was cross. Like an angry fairy, or maybe more like a wildcat with her riot of out-of-control curls.

"Well?" Hermione asked again, "I haven't got all day you know. A walk with me, or filling your stomach in the Great Hall?"

She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the face. "I'm not fussed either way, myself."

Harry's a git, thought Ron as he looked down on Hermione, a great stupid git who doesn't deserve to go out with my sister! Thanks a lot for putting me into this position, mate.

He was starving, really hungry. It had been at least an hour since he'd wolfed down the large plates of crumpets that Kreacher had brought up to the library. He'd faint soon at this rate or something.

But ... he'd seen how Hermione had looked as she'd walked, before Harry had called her over. She'd looked dejected, sad. And he'd had an awful week without her. He didn't feel right somehow when they were cross with each other and nothing had gone well the last few days.

She'd made him feel so crap when they'd rowed; that thing that she had said, well, blimey! Any bloke would get angry if his girlfriend said that to him! All he'd been doing was trying to be a good boyfriend. Be the kind of bloke that she deserved.

Hermione's foot continued to tap on the stone floor.

It wasn't easy, this going out lark. There was a lot more to it than the kissing bit, he was discovering. He made a quick decision.

"Come on," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the doors to the castle. The late afternoon sun was pouring through the large, open doors making the grounds outside seem warm and inviting. "Let's walk."

They set off across the grass towards the lake. Ron took great strides, Hermione easily keeping up with him with her long legs.

Ron headed for a spot around the back of the lake, under a clump of trees. They shouldn't be disturbed back here for a while, he thought; most people would be having dinner before drifting out into the grounds later on.

He threw himself down onto the grass under a large oak tree and Hermione sat down next to him, her legs neatly crossed. They sat with their backs to the wide oak, staring out across the blue of the lake.

Hermione spoke first.

"Well, Ronald?" What do you want to say?"

Ron didn't look at her. They were sitting very close and he could feel the shape of her body next to his. He knew the contours of her curves quite well by now and he knew without looking what part of her was nearly touching him. Her thigh was close to his leg.

Very close indeed, actually.

"Either talk to me, Ronald Weasley, or go in and eat your dinner!" Hermione exclaimed. "I couldn't care less if we never talk to each other again during our whole lives actually, but it does make it very difficult to study for the exams when I'm trying to avoid going into the library when you're there."

Hermione folded her arms. "And it makes it very difficult for Harry, too."

Ron groaned to himself. Back to Harry again. She was always talking about him, poor Harry this and brave Harry that. If he wasn't so sure by now that Harry was mad for his sister and that Harry felt like a brother towards Hermione, that old jealousy could easily start to flare up in his chest again.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Ron sneaked a quick look at Hermione. Her lips were set in a very straight, tight line that reminded him of how Ginny could look sometimes when she was annoyed. Obviously she was waiting for him to make the first move.

Sod it. Girls were very complicated. He had missed her though. Merlin's beard, this was awkward.

Why did girls always want to _talk_? He hadn't been the one to start the argument; well, not really. If she wanted to go back to how they had been before, she was the one who should be doing the talking, not him!

But what if she didn't say something? What if she just stood up and walked back to the castle. What would he do then? Maybe she would start going out with someone else! He knew that lots of boys fancied her. He'd heard some comments that had made him see red in the few weeks since they'd returned to school, some of them even from people who were supposed to be his friends like Dean and Seamus.

Ron swallowed hard. That didn't bear thinking about. His Hermione, with someone else, all because he didn't speak. Bloody hell. It was time to swallow his pride and make up with her. Harry was right. Come to think about it, it _was_ usually Harry who sorted out their frequent disagreements.

His palms started to feel sweaty and he wriggled against the trunk of the tree. Right then, he would sort this out. He was a Gryffindor. He could do this.

Actually, he'd rather face a room full of Death Eaters again than have to say sorry. Maybe she'd expect him to talk about his _feelings_. Blimey.

"Look," he said, turning slightly towards Hermione, "Right. Well ..." Bloody hell! His stomach was twisting into knots.

"Er ..."

"Yes, Ronald?"

Remember that you're a Gryffindor. Remember that she might dump you forever and go and snog someone else. Maybe some prat who wouldn't treat her right! Ron's protectiveness, always close to the surface, reared it's head. He blurted the words out quickly, before he could change his mind.

"Look, I'm sorry, right? I'm sorry if I upset you, OK? The other night when we'd been ... when we'd been, you know ... on the other side of the lake by those bushes." He gestured vaguely with his hand and looked awkwardly at her. "I didn't mean to upset you, right? But it wasn't me who started it all, you know. "

Hermione turned her head to look at Ron, arms still folded tight across her chest.

"You said some horrible things to me, Ron," she said quietly but firmly, "We'd just been doing ... well ... hadn't we and then I said ... what I said and you said ..."

Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath.

"And then you said what you said and stormed off into the night. And when I came after you, _you_ said that you'd had enough of me and you were going to ... to ... to get off with the first girl that you could who wasn't me!"

Tears came into Hermione's eyes which she angrily brushed away with the back of her hand.

"And then, you've been ignoring me ever since! And Dean told Ginny who told Hannah Brown who told me that now you want to go out with ..." She shook her head to clear away the tears that were really starting to creep down her cheeks now, " ... with _Selina Woodbarrow_ from Ravenclaw, who everyone knows isn't a very discerning kind of a girl and who had snogged half of the school by the time she was in fifth year!"

Hermione finished with a little angry sob. Ron stared at her in a stunned way. She was really getting herself worked up into a passion now.

"So if that's what you want to do, Ronald, that's fine by me because there are lots of boys who I can go out with instead of you, you know. Lots of boys!" She wiped her eyes again. "I hope that we can remain friends of a sort because you might just need me to get you through those N.E.W.T.S. you know! And we have been through quite a lot together these last few years."

Ron stared at her. This was the trouble with girls; you say one little thing, make one little teeny comment in the heat of the moment - like wanting to get off with someone else - and they harp on about it for ages afterwards. For days, weeks, maybe even for years in Hermione's case.

She was sounding rather like his mum did sometimes when she got a bee in her bonnet, which was a bit of a worry.

"Right," he said as Hermione sat next to him, sniffing, "Right then, well ..."

What should he say now? Girls were a mystery when you thought about it, and especially his girl. Who knew what thoughts went on in her head?

"Right, well ..." he took a deep breath, "Well, I was a bit het up after - after you know what - and what you said, so I just blurted out the first thing that came into my head."

Hermione sniffed and looked down at her hands. Perhaps it was nice that she was jealous. He didn't think that anyone had ever been jealous over _him_ before. Other than Hermione. He remembered the yellow birds she had conjured up once – and the scratches on his hands after the birds had attacked.

Did she really think that he fancied someone else? He couldn't imagine kissing anyone but her, or doing all of those other things that they now did on quite a regular basis.

"I don't want to get off with anyone," he said in a quieter voice, "Not Selina Woodbarrow, not anyone else. Just you, 'Mione."

Hermione continued looking at her hands. Ron thought carefully. It had been a horrible week without her; more quick talking was needed.

"I was angry with you, right? Bloody hell, you had been a bit critical, you know!" Hermione sniffed again. "You said some pretty nasty stuff, as it goes!"

Hermione shuffled closer towards him under the tree so that her arm was tight against his. "I know," she said, "I know, Ron."

Her voice grew quieter. He could tell that she wasn't so angry now.

"I've been thinking about it all week. We both said some silly things, didn't we?" She looked up at him, "The thing that I said about you and then the thing that I said about Victor ..." Her voice trailed off, "Well, I'm sorry too, OK?"

Ron moved quickly. Hermione saying sorry was a rare event and he needed to make the most of the moment. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. She nestled into his arm, her head on his broad shoulder.

Ron sighed with relief. Ah, that was better, he thought. Actually, he'd missed her like hell this last week.

"Selina Woodbarrow's got a nasty rash on her forehead at the moment, you know 'Mione," he said, looking straight ahead at the lake and avoiding looking at her face. "And yesterday apparently all of her parchment was blank when she pulled out her homework for McGonagall and she's got to do it all over again in detention. She's had lots of bad luck this week. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Hermione wiggled beside him.

"Selina Woodbarrow should learn to keep her eyes to herself. She's been staring at you all week in a most discerning way. I just can't think how those things could have happened to poor Selina. Such a nice, _friendly_ girl as well – or so lots of the boy's say."

Ron grinned to himself. Hermione was not a witch to be crossed. She was too bloody clever at spells for that.

"So, are you apologising?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, I 'spose ..." Ron answered.

"Good," Hermione said, wiping the last tears away from her face, "We row too often, don't we?"

Ron pulled her to him closer and bent his head down to gently kiss her.

"Always have, 'Mione, right from when we met. Probably always will, you know. We'll just have to try harder, won't we?" She put her hand up to stroke his cheek.

"We do have to talk about why we rowed, though, Ron. We can't just gloss over what we said."

Ron's grin faded from his face as Hermione spoke. He'd rather forget the whole incident under the bushes and what they had both said, to be honest. He hadn't kissed her for a whole week and now she wanted to talk and to analyse things. Much better to have a snog, he thought.

"So," she continued, "I've been thinking. When we were under the bushes and I tried to touch you and I realised that you'd already ..."

"Hermione!" He squirmed with embarrassment. "Do we have to talk about _that _right now! Bloody hell, we've only just made up!"

"Yes we do," she said, "Don't swear, Ronald. When I realised, and I said that Victor didn't ever have that problem - "

Bloody Krum again, Ron thought. He'd like to punch his bloody lights out.

Just hearing Hermione say his name made his hands curl into fists and his ever ready temper rise quickly to the surface.

" - and you got all angry - "

"Yeah, well, I don't like to think about you and him doing - doing _stuff_."

"Well, you and Lavender Brown did!" Hermione retaliated, moving round in the crook of his arm so that she could see his face, "Didn't you? You and Lavender, me and Victor; it's all the same, isn't it, Ron?"

Ron humphed quietly and continued staring straight ahead at the lake.

Of course it wasn't the same. With Lavender he'd just been messing around, anyone could see that.

Whereas Victor bloody Krum – well, that stupid berk had seemed kind of serious about Hermione. About _his_ Hermione. The prat.

"Well, there's no need for us to go over it all again then, is there?" he answered grumpily. "You got off with Krum, the git, and I got off with Lavender. But you know what I did with her, which wasn't much. Though I could have done lots with her, you know, if I'd wanted to!"

Hermione shot him a dark look.

"Well ... while you and - and _him_ - you seem to have got a bit more friendly, don't you?"

Ron started to feel the same stirrings of jealousy he'd felt last week. How far exactly had she gone with that Bulgarian berk anyway?

Hermione sighed and leant back into his arm again, an arm that was now feeling a bit tense.

"Ron," she said in an exasperated voice, "We've been over this before, haven't we?"

"Humph," was all of the reply that she got.

"I've told you, Ron, there's no need to be so jealous all of the time. Kissing only and his hands up here."She nodded down to her chest. "Above the clothes. The same things that you and Lavender got up to."

"Humph," he said again, still feeling a stirring of jealousy.

"Well then," he continued, not looking at her but staring out to the lake, "How do you know then about his, his - you know, and that he didn't - err - "

He couldn't think of how to describe what he wanted to say.

"How do you know that he didn't get very excited too when you were snogging? If you and him didn't ever get down to anything else?"

Hah, he thought, explain yourself out of that one, Miss Know-it-All.

Hermione smiled smugly up at his face.

"Ron," she said, "Girl's know. We just know, that's all. I always know when you're getting excited and when ..." She paused and then went bravely on, "And when you get, you know, very excited. I can feel you, growing - and then after a bit you pull away and that's when we stop whatever we've been - " She smiled at him very sweetly, " - whatever we've been doing. Well, usually what _you've_ been doing to _me_ actually."

She carried on, "That's the problem for me, you see. It's always you doing things to me, not the other way around. Oh, very nice things," she quickly reassured him as Ron continued to stare straight forwards, the tips of his ears starting to turn pink now, "Very nice things indeed. Especially when you put your hands down there."

She wriggled against him gently, "But I want to do things to you too, Ron. Lots of things to you."

She put her hand up to his cheek and turned his face towards her.

"Stop looking at the lake, Ronald, you've seen it a million times before." She smiled gently at him. "I want to do things to you too. Very nice things. Things that you'll like, a lot."

Bloody hell, he thought as she leaned in and kissed him. Bloody hell, how would he cope with her doing things to him?

He kissed her back, softly and then hungrily. It had been a week and her lips tasted brilliant and felt so soft. Merlin's beard, if she started doing things to him - he'd never last, never more than for a few minutes!

Hermione surfaced first and moved over to put her head on his chest.

"So," she said, "As I was saying, when I realised the other night that you'd, err ... already, I started to think that we need to sort of build up your resilience to me."

"My, my what?" Ron stammered.

"Your resilience to me, Ron," she continued, rubbing her hand gently up and down his chest, "You know, how much you can take of me doing things to you before you ... you ..."

"Hermione!" Ron quickly interrupted, "I know what you mean!"

"Yes, well, I've sort of worked out a plan in my head. A plan of action."

"A plan?" he said weakly.

"Yes, Ron," she smiled, moving her hand down to rest on his thigh, "A plan. A bit like a timetable really. You know how I like to be organised."

Bloody hell, he thought, what _has_ been going through her head this week? He made a mental note never to go a whole week again without kissing her soundly and making her go weak at the knees, and weak in other areas of her body too. Give her a breathing space and she thinks up a timetable for how to seduce me! Merlin's beard!

"I thought that first of all we could do things with our clothes on," Hermione continued, "And then build up slowly to doing things with our clothes, well - off."

Ron gulped.

"And I could start with touching you with my hand and then build up to touching you with my -" She reached up to kiss him again and whispered, "- Ron, like this ..."

And she kissed him hard and swirled her tongue around his and he was lost in her, his mind boggling. He put his hands up behind her head and pulled her further into their kiss.

She had devised a timetable for how to build up his 'resilience' to her, had she? Typical Hermione. Bloody hell. He'd never survive. His sexy witch was going to kill him.

She moved her hands up to his chest and gently pushed him away.

"And then at the end of a few weeks we'll be able to - you know. Maybe after the Ball. What do you think?"

She glanced up earnestly into his face.

"Am I being too bossy, Ron? Please tell me. I hate it when we argue and we don't talk. Am I being too organised? I know that you usually sort of lead when we're together but I want to do things to you too. I want to make you happy."

He looked down into her hopeful face. His witch was far too clever for him, he thought. He should have known that she'd notice he always pulled away whenever she reached for him. At least she didn't seem to know about all of the other times when he'd had an accident, which was something. And she'd obviously been worrying about it, and wanted to make it better. Wanted to please him. She was very sweet, really. And clever.

He thought suddenly about his dad. Mr Weasley never managed to pull the wool over his mother's eyes. Mum always seemed to know just what Dad was up to and what he was thinking. Had he landed himself with a witch just like his mother? Bloody hell.

But his dad was really happy with his bossy, controlling mum. They'd been married for donkey's years – and had seven children. He could be happy too, he thought, with his organising, managing, bossy Hermione. His caring, thoughtful, sweet Hermione.

He kissed her on the cheek.

"You do make me happy, 'Mione," he answered as she looked at him hopefully, "Except when we're arguing. Which we do a bit too much." She sighed. "_And_ when you mention Krum's name. I mean, I don't go around talking about Lavender all of the time, do I?"

Hermione looked a bit sheepish.

"You know I can't stand it that you went out with him. And Cormac McLaggin. The gits."

Hermione blushed a little. "Oh, Ron," she said, looking into his eyes, "I won't mention Victor again, I promise."

"Good," Ron answered. "There's only so much talking about your ex's that a bloke can stand, you know? Ok," he took a deep breath. "I do get a bit too excited when I'm with you sometimes. When we're doing things, you know."

She smiled at him.

"It's all your own fault, 'Mione. You've got a really curvy body and you wear all of that sexy underwear and then there's your legs and your ... er... things." She blushed slightly again as he stared pointedly at her chest. "Maybe I do need to get more sort of - _used_ to you."

She smiled broadly and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"Ron," she breathed into his chest, "I'm so glad that we're friends again. I missed you so much last week."

He started to stroke her hair. "And I think that we should start on our little plan tonight. After we've done a couple of hours studying, of course," she continued happily. "We could find the Room of Requirements tonight and make a start on our _other_ study timetable. The Ron and Hermione Study Timetable. I've got some great ideas for what I could do to you first." She sighed happily.

Ron gulped. Tonight! Bloody hell and blimey. She had some great ideas, did she? He stared over the top of her head to the lake again. Oh Merlin, the sun was starting to set. That left him with only a few hours to work out how not tolose it straight away if she touched him.

Ron swallowed hard. And she wanted to build up to ... with her ...

Bloody hell and Merlin's beard!

He was in trouble. Going out with his sexy witch was going to kill him. Kill him slowly. Right in line with her bloody Ron and Hermione Seduction Timetable or whatever she'd said. He groaned to himself. How was he going to manage? She was going to expect him to, well, last a bit, wasn't she. Merlin's sodding beard, what on earth was he going to do?

"Ron, it's much nicer when we're friends," she was saying now, "Isn't it?"

Ron just nodded, thinking hard. How did other blokes manage? He'd have to find out. Fast.

He needed some advice. He couldn't ask Harry because all of Harry's experience in the area was with his sister and that would just be too weird. And Neville wouldn't know. He doubted if Neville ever thought about girls very much, he was too wrapped up in his plants. He had caught him staring at Luna Lovegood sometimes lately, but Neville definitely wasn't the bloke to ask. Seamus and Dean were out of the question, they'd just take the mickey out of him.

No, he needed someone he could trust, someone with experience. Someone with a bit of a reputation who'd been out with lots of girls. Who on earth did he know who was good with the ladies? Who had a reputation at Hogwarts for this kind of thing?

And then the answer came to him in a flash. Blimey, he should have thought of him straight away! If this person didn't know the answer, then no-one did. He suddenly knew just who he should be talking to.


	4. Chapter 4 Learning to Text

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters etc etc which are the property of Ms. Rowling and various companies. I do not own unconfident, naive, oh-so-sweet-and-sexy Ron Weasley. Unfortunately._

**Chapter Four – Learning to Text**

Ron stood in the Entrance Hall, nervously pacing backwards and forwards with his hands stuck firmly into the pockets of his trousers. He hoped that she wouldn't be much longer. They had arranged to meet at nine and Hermione was supposed to be coming straight from the library, but it was already five past nine and Hermione wasn't usually late. He glanced again at the large clock on the wall of the Entrance Hall, and then at the new memorial plaque on the wall next to it.

The light was subdued in the Entrance Hall, with just the side chandeliers on. The slab of white marble was engraved with carvings and gave off a subtle, misty glow all of its own. It was easy to read the inscription on the large memorial in the half light:

'_For the Greater Good of all Magical Kind, They here Gave their Lives, Wizard and Witch, Magical Creatures large and small; Their wands Shine Brightly On. In the Hallows we See the Light; In our Loss we See their Love, The most Powerful Magic of All. Battle of Hogwarts 1__st__ April 2007'_

There were thirty-one names underneath in alphabetical order. The last two names were the ones which always caught Ron's eyes as he walked past the plaque each day:

'Snape, Severus Harold Prince _Professor of Hogwarts and Slytherin Head of House 1990 – 2006; Headmaster of Hogwarts 2006-07; Member of the Order of the Phoenix _Weasley, Frederick Gideon _Gryffindor_ _House; Member of the Order of the Phoenix; aged 19'_

His first thought when he'd seen the memorial was that Fred would have been pleased to die on April the 1st, April Fool's Day. He'd always played the fool and Ron hoped that Fred was laughing still, wherever he was.

He'd wondered if Fred would become a ghost, those half-dead spirits that floated around the school, unwilling to go on to the next stage of death and to completely leave the human world behind. Fred had enjoyed life so much and had not been ready to leave it, but no ghostly Fred had appeared as yet. Ron thought that a ghost Fred might be a little like Peeves the school Poltergeist, always up to trouble and encouraging other's in their mischief too. Fred would have enjoyed that, Ron thought, remembering all of the tricks that Fred and George had played on him over the years.

Not all of those who had died during the Battle were named on the marble memorial. There were no Death Eaters listed, and some magical creatures that had perished didn't have names which could be transcribed into written English. There was a large Giant that had crashed down next to Gawp and later died of his wounds who Hagrid swore had been on their side, not on Voldermort's, but nobody was sure. And some creatures had disappeared back to their burrows and lairs to die in peace with their own kind and weren't listed.

Ron liked the memorial. It was dignified and majestic.

There were rumours that there was another memorial in a cave somewhere up in the mountains nearby that listed the others who had died in the Battle, the Death Eaters and their followers; Bellatrix Lestrange, Nox and the Carews amongst others. And even Voldemort himself was rumoured to be named on this dark plaque. Ron felt a shiver snake its way down his back.

There was no need to worry about this tomb though. Harry had pledged to find it and to destroy it and Neville was keen to help, his hatred for Bellatrix Lestrange still strong despite her death at the hands of Mrs Weasley. It was strange to think that his mum had killed someone, very strange indeed. Ron didn't like to think about it, really.

He carried on walking slowly back and forth by the far wall of the Hall. Hermione should be here any minute now.

He held on tightly to the box from George in the pocket of his trousers, rubbing his fingers nervously over the straight edges. If this didn't work tonight, he was lost. Might as well just forget about him and Hermione forever. The embarrassment of ... _again_ ... with her ...

If it happened again he'd have to chuck her, wouldn't he, and find some nice, homely girl to go out with who didn't drive him to the edge of crazy with her soft, firm mouth and her long, lush legs and her small, insistent hands. Ron swallowed. But George had said that it would work and he had been right about everything else so far, hadn't he?

When Mum had sent the owl telling him how well George's shop was doing with its new range of special items, he'd read the letter twice in disbelief. Only George could think of selling _those_, he'd thought to himself.

It was a completely mad idea, but it was brilliant. And George, with his flair for business and his dashing sort of panache, was just the right kind of a wizard to pull off such an amazing sales coup. Magical mobile phones for witches and wizards – it was crazy, it was a bonkers idea – and they were selling like hotcakes.

George had sent a small parcel to Ron only a few days after his mother's letter had reached him and when he opened it at the breakfast table, many people had laughed as a small, black Muggle mobile phone had come tumbling out. The laughs from the Slytherin table had been the loudest.

The Slytherin seventh years were less rowdy now than they had been before but were still a mean, cruel bunch. Unbelievably, Goyle now seemed to be their leader. Malfoy of course hadn't returned to school and with Crabbe's death during the Battle, Goyle was the new Slytherin top dog. Goyle's sneers had been the loudest – but he had been one of the first to buy a FredBerry when George officially launched the range.

Now all over the school you could hear mobile phones ringing and vibrating as the magical teenagers caught on to the fantastic world of texting. It was driving Mr Filch mad. Head teacher McGonagall had banned FredBerries from lessons and warned that anyone caught using them in a malicious way at school would face expulsion. The trend had well and truly caught the school - and now was just starting to spread into the wider magical world.

Ron had been amazed when his dad had pulled a mobile out of his pocket when he visited last weekend and phoned his mum to say he would be a bit late coming home for tea. Of course, mobiles were quicker and easier than sending an owl or a Patronus message, but still – his dad using one!

Ron wondered what George would think of selling next. He had seen a box with a Muggle computer in it when he'd been helping out at the shop. George, like all of the Weasley's, wasn't prejudiced against Muggles and had said when he launched the FredBerries that there was actually a lot that wizards could learn from the Muggle world. His planned new shop, Weasley's Techno Wizard World, was bound to do a brisk trade even if it only sold the phones. In the couple of weeks since Ron and the rest of the Weasley's had received their parcels, almost everyone at school had bought one. Sending a FredBerry to Ron at school had been a smooth marketing trick; Ron admired George's thinking. As soon as everyone had stopped laughing and had seen how the FredBerry worked and realised the advantages of texting, orders from Ron's fellow pupils had started to flow into George's shop.

George was talking about the _tint-o-net_, whatever that was, and the deals he could make with Muggles about adverts or something. And selling ringtones for the phones, and expanding into magical televisions. It was good that George was keeping busy, and scheming and planning about this and that. Making huge piles of Galleons would keep him from thinking too much about Fred, maybe.

The FredBerry had been a godsend. Ron wasn't a letter writer and neither was George, but texting his brother about Hermione had been easy. Not embarrassing at all, really. Not once he'd got over the initial first text on that evening a few weeks ago when he and Hermione had made up after their last argument.

George had seemed to cotton on pretty quickly to the core of Ron's problem and had sent some very useful advice. Of course, he'd also teased Ron something chronic too and sent lots of very rude jokes. The prat.

Some of the jokes were really funny though. Ron had sent a couple on to Bill and Charlie and they'd texted him some good jokes back, jokes not fit for Hermione or Ginny to see. Charlie's often involved dragons and goblins getting up to things together. They'd made Seamus, Dean and Harry roar out loud. Ron hadn't sent any of the jokes on to Percy though. Ron didn't think that Percy would enjoy that kind of humour, somehow.

The texts from George were great. They had so far seen him through three weeks of Hermione's Sexy Timetable thing. Through quite a few illicit meetings in the Room of Requirements. Ron had learned about breathing, about taking things very slowly, about what exactly to do when everything got a bit too much – and the sessions with Hermione had been great. Brilliant.

The best thing that had ever happened to him. Even better than Quidditch.

He clenched his hand around the box again. Tonight would be easy, he reassured himself. A piece of cake. After last time when she'd wanted to try ... and he'd ... Well, if he could bloody well survive that without totally embarrassing himself, he could manage anything!

He hadn't actually used the box yet, but the time was coming soon, he knew, when Hermione and he, when they would - Ron swallowed again. The box would save him from utter humiliation. He'd be fine. Hopefully.

Ron looked at the clock on the wall again. If she didn't turn up in a minute, he'd have to go and find her. She was probably still in the library.

They had two days to go before the N.E.W.T.S. began and then only two weeks before the Leavers Ball and goodbye to Hogwarts for good. Graduation would take place on the last day of August, the day before the school would reopen with a new troop of nervous first-years.

He still wasn't sure if he'd made the right choice returning to school with Harry and Hermione. The last eight weeks had been difficult. Still, he was nearly there now, nearly at the end of studying and catching up, of following rules for schoolboys when almost he felt like a man now. Nearly like a man, sort of. Spending these weeks with Hermione had been great. More than great. Sodding brilliant.

Bloody hell, where was she? Time to forcibly remove Hermione from the library, Ron thought.

He stopped pacing and turned the box over in his pocket. Maybe he should just nip back to the dormitory first and text George again, just to make sure that he'd got it really straight in his head about how the box worked.

Just in case that tonight turned out to be _the_ night.

He moved quickly towards the staircase.


	5. Chapter 5 Learning to Breathe

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters etc etc which are the property of Ms. Rowling and various companies. I do not own unconfident, naive, oh-so-sweet-and-sexy Ron Weasley. Unfortunately._

**Chapter Five – Learning to Breathe**

"Our last exam tomorrow, Ron," Hermione said into his ear. They were lying on the bed that always materialised as they walked into the Room of Requirement, candles gently glowing on a small table and their robes hastily thrown onto a chair nearby.

The Room was warm as usual and Ron felt comfortable lying there in just his boxer shorts. To be accurate, as comfortable as he could be with Hermione lying next to him – wearing nothing bar her underwear as well.

Amazing underwear, Ron thought as he turned towards her, all lacy and silky and smooth. Underwear that he had become very familiar with in the last couple of weeks. As Hermione reached for his hand across the bed covers, Ron swallowed hard.

He glanced nervously towards the floor where he always discretely placed the small box. It was just where he'd put it when they'd kissed and undressed a few minutes ago, close enough that he'd be able to reach for it at a crucial moment if he needed to.

He hadn't opened the box yet - still didn't know what was inside it even after these last few eye-opening, thrilling, sticky, fumbling weeks - and probably he wouldn't open it tonight either. He thought that Hermione had made it clear what they were leading up to during their sessions in the Room - hoped and prayed that he'd been reading the signs right - but he didn't think that the _actual event_, which he dreamed about constantly, was going to happen just yet. Not until after the exams, probably, knowing Hermione and her very organised mind.

Which was good, if he thought about it logically. Just before the last bloody N.E.W.T. tomorrow was not the best time for him to worry about how well he was (or more likely was not) going to perform when they finally, actually ...

They'd had exams for the last two weeks. Exams on Potions (impossibly hard); exams on Charms (okay-ish, he'd thought); exams on Defence Against the Dark Arts (piece of cake); and tomorrow was the last one – Defence again, easy. The two weeks of worry were nearly over, thank Merlin. Studying was nearly over. Being at Hogwarts was nearly over.

Their slow seduction of each other during the course of the last few weeks was nearly over too.

Ron reached for Hermione and rolled her slowly onto her back.

"Enough talking," he said into her ear and started to kiss her.

Merlin, she tasted so sweet and soft. He leant into the kiss, moving so that his body nearly covered hers and they were lying right in the middle of the bed.

"If this is our last time in here before the final exam, that's enough talking for now. I mean, it's not as if we've got all night, now is it?" He grinned down at Hermione lying beneath him. "As I keep reminding you, Miss Granger, I _have_ got studying to do before the last exam. You can't just use me for your own satisfaction _all night_, you know - Oi!"

She'd tickled him under his arm. They rolled around on the bed, laughing and trying to tickle each other until Ron rolled Hermione under him again and captured her arms, pinning her down beneath his large, long body.

"Enough!" he cried out and bent his head down to kiss her. The kiss quickly escalated into a long, steamy duel as their hands moved eagerly over each other and their breathing became quicker and faster.

Her tongue rubbed against his as her hands moved gently up and down his back. _Breathe, Ron_, he thought to himself as the kiss deepened further.

She was always touching his skin, running her small hands over his body. She'd said that he felt strong and that she liked his muscles, that she liked touching him. The trouble was she didn't seem to realise just how it made him feel whenever he saw her soft, very feminine hands on his thigh or on his chest or running down over his stomach. And those small hands of hers seemed to travel very fast, moving to new places and catching him unawares, making him suck in a breath as she explored him.

She just didn't seem to have any idea just how damn turned on she made him and just how much harder it was each evening to stop at a certain point when it was killing him not to go further.

He was scared stiff of going further, of course, of having to see if he could live up to expectations when push came to shove, as it were. But he wanted to, all of the same. What red blooded eighteen year old wouldn't want to, even if he was scared witless as well as being as horny as hell.

Her hands were moving downwards as he continued to kiss her thoroughly, breathing in happily the little noises that she made in the back of her throat as his tongue jousted with hers. He kissed the edge of her mouth and traced a line to her collarbone, kissing her there gently.

He'd learnt quickly that she liked that. George had told him to get a sort of a feel for what Hermione liked, to listen to her body and not to just race after the main prize. He'd said that it was better that way. And George had been right, so right. His cocky, know-it-all brother certainly knew his stuff when it came to women.

For the thousandth time, Ron thanked his lucky stars that he'd been brave enough to ask for his brother's advice. Bloody hell, without George he'd have buggered it all up by now.

Getting things right with Hermione, not buggering it all up like he normally did with just about everything else, had become very important to Ron. More important than just having sex, when he thought about it. Although to be honest, that was bloody important too.

He kissed downwards and came to the lacy edge of her bra. Ron smoothly pushed the two, thin straps down over Hermione's shoulders and kissed the top of one bulging, straining curve.

Hermione's eyes were closed and her hands had stopped moving over his back. She was still and tense as Ron reached around her and clicked undone the hook holding her bra together.

He could undo her bra very easily by now. That had been a difficult trick to learn. His fingers had felt so large and clumsy when he'd first done it but now he could unhook her quite quickly. Course, it still took his breath away each time that he did.

"Ron," she murmured as his hands slid around her body again and he pulled the straps down over her arms and threw the bra to one side, "Ron!"

He was breathing deeply and his boxer shorts were tight across him. He looked at each of the candles in the room and repeated "Luminous nox," in a voice that came out gruffer and deeper than usual until all but one of the candles had gone out. Now there was only a gentle light flickering behind the bed and in the deeper shadow he felt more relaxed.

He could see her body in the candle's glow; Hermione's breasts were inches from his face as he kissed down her arms and across her stomach using light feathery kisses. He moved his weight onto his arms so that he didn't crush her. Hermione squirmed as he kissed her skin, kissed her everywhere but where she most needed him to.

"Ron," she managed to say, her breathing deep, "Ron, I need - I need you to - Ron!"

He loved kissing her here. He bent his head and gently kissed all of the way in a small circle around one tightly puckered, hard nipple.

He quickly caught himself before he lost his control. Easy, Ron! _No, stop thinking about that!_ Think about _breathing_, mate, he told himself - breathe and pause a minute and breathe.

Hermione was wriggling, arching her back and sub-consciously pushing her breasts up closer to his mouth. You are in charge, mate, he told himself, this all goes at your pace, remember? _Breathe!_

Bloody hell, she was wonderful. He was the luckiest bastard in the world. He had a soft, willing, beautiful girlfriend squirming beneath him, her skin rubbing against his in a way that was driving him crazy and which made keeping his shorts on much longer near bloody impossible. And she loved what he was doing to her if the noises she was making were anything to go by.

He was getting it right again. The self-confidence beast in his chest swelled for a heartbeat. He had been feeling more confident generally lately, not feeling so much like the youngest, the least talented, least handsome Weasley brother.

"Ron," Hermione whimpered, "Ron, gosh, if you don't kiss me there right now, I'm going to die and ... and ... Oh!"

He grinned to himself and lowered his head to her heaving breasts. Brilliant words to hear, he thought to himself, bloody brilliant, marvellous words to hear.

Gently he placed a kiss on one hard, tight nipple. Hermione's breathing ceased. Ron licked carefully, slowly with small, soft flicks of his tongue across her nipple and then around and around. Settling himself more comfortably across her body, Ron paused and looked up at Hermione's tense face. Her eyes were still closed, her breathing ragged.

He took her nipple into his mouth and gently sucked.

Hermione arched her back even more and whimpered.

The sound of her went straight through him – and straight to his crotch. He was in pain now, throbbing. He was so hard. Keep breathing, he sternly told himself, get a grip. Don't lose it now!

He moved on to Hermione's other breast, licking and gently sucking. Hermione's cries were intense. She was wriggling wildly, pressing herself against him and squirming, rubbing herself against his thigh as he continued to play with her with his mouth.

He leant hard on one arm and shifted his weight so that his other hand was free and stroked her leg, up and down, while he continued to lick and to suck at her breasts.

This was brilliant, this was great. And he hadn't lost it yet, even better! Over the last couple of weeks, he had slowly built up some small sort of resilience to her so that now he could do this without embarrassing himself completely. He'd learnt to spend time alone in the privacy of the prefect's bathroom just before their little get-togethers, relieving some of the pressure. Another brotherly tip from George. It had been his saving so far.

Ron moved his hand to between her thighs and started to rub through the lace of her underwear. Just concentrate on Hermione, he sternly told himself, don't think about anything else. Get a grip, mate! _Breathe_.

He left her breasts and moved his body up to fully cover hers. He could feel her warm skin pressing against him all the way down; his chest against hers, her stomach pressing against his. He kissed her on the mouth and Hermione kissed him back wildly. Her hair was everywhere, spreading out across the pillows.

His bulging shorts were against her damp crotch, the lace of her knickers rubbing against him. Hermione's kisses burned him as he slid both of his hands slowly up the sides of her body. He leant on his elbows, placing them on either side of her face, his body tight against hers.

She was letting him do whatever he wanted to again, as usual. Her original plan of doing things to him never seemed to quite work out during the sessions which they spent together in the Room. His fault – he loved to make her want him. To make her squirm and to hear the noises that she made and to make her so full each time of wriggling desire.

Desire for him – him, Ron Weasley! Bloody unbelievable! It was a miracle that he was only just beginning to hesitatingly believe in. Each time he felt her clinging to him, his ego went up one more small notch.

Blimey, his Miss Prim and Proper was wanton tonight, was wild. She was driving him crazy. Her eyes were closed and she was kissing him like a mad thing, one leg wrapped around his thigh so that she was pushing hard against his straining shorts.

Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her harsh breathing making them rub against him, driving him mad as her hard, tight nipples rubbed against the muscles of his chest.

They had never gone quite this far before. There was only the thin lace of her knickers and his cotton shorts between them, the only barriers.

He had the box on the floor. He could reach out for it at any time. The thought of it made him feel bolder and less nervous. He could touch her and carry on kissing her. The Room would keep them safe.

They could keep going on like this, sliding against each other like this, until ... It would feel so right to ...

He'd kiss her once more and then – he'd slide his hands down and just pull those bloody knickers off and then - and then -

_But she doesn't want to yet, mate_, a voice inside his head piped up. _Not really. You know that. She wants it to be romantic, after the Leavers Ball. That's what she wants. And you want to make her happy, to make it perfect for her, don't you?_

Ron silently sighed to himself.

"We'd better stop," he breathed down into her face, "Mione, stop now. Keep still. Otherwise... I won't be able to stop."

The words were out of his mouth before he'd even thought about it.

She wriggled under him and ran her hands up and down his back. She pushed against him, feeling his bulge pulsing against her. Her breasts were swollen and tense, her knickers ruined again.

Hermione felt curious and very, very reckless. The exams were nearly over. She'd been dreaming about the two of them going further for weeks. She took a deep breath.

Ron moaned as Hermione thrust her tongue into his mouth again. She moved her hands around to his front and tentatively stroked one hand across his stomach and squeezed it between their bodies. Ron's moan caught in his throat.

Slowly she placed her hand over him.

Ron's mouth gaped open and he arched his shoulders backwards, bucking and pushing himself more fully against her hand. Hermione's fingers slowly stroked across him through his shorts, then moved a little faster, forwards and backwards. She traced the outline of him, rock hard and straining against her palm. Shyly, she looked up into Ron's face.

Ron drew in a ragged breath. Merlin's beard!

Her mouth beneath him formed into a perfect 'o' as he rubbed himself against her, hard, letting her feel how much he wanted her.

"Mione, listen, we'd better stop! Unless you want ... want it to happen now, tonight. Which would be brilliant, I mean, obviously, but ..."

Her bloody hand! He felt the pressure building within him. She was rubbing him, tracing him, curling her fingers around him through the cotton.

Hermione stared up at him with a tender look on her face and her hand continued to move, to roam.

"Why, Ron? Why do we have to stop? Hmm?"

His heart was racing and he was jumping under her small, insistent hand. He felt his ears turn red.

She smiled at him again, shyly yet knowingly, a smile that women had smiled at times like this for thousands of years. Hermione reached up to press a small kiss on the side of his neck. He arched against her.

Surely she wasn't going to ...

One hand on his stomach, the other now slid into his shorts and suddenly Hermione was touching him properly, her hand on his hot smooth skin, her fingers lightly rubbing all of the way along him. He throbbed in her hand, growing even harder. Blimey!

Hermione kissed his collarbone, running her tongue warmly over him.

"Ron," she murmured into his shoulder, "Ron, I want to ... you know ... to make you, um ..."

Ron gulped. She wanted to – what!

Oh sodding blimey, bloody hell, bloody Merlin's beard.

His breathing was beyond ragged. She pulled her hand away and wriggled underneath him.

"Roll over, Ron," she whispered and she pushed at his chest gently, "Roll over, please."He was in a daze. She rolled him onto his side and lay close against him, her hand stealing back to his shorts once more.

_Breathe, Ron_, he said to himself, _just breathe_. It's going to be alright.

He wanted this so badly. Wanted to do lots of things with her so badly.

Her fingers were tight around him. She couldn't believe how he felt, how thick. Gosh, her fingers didn't even meet around the base of him.

Hermione felt amazing. He made her feel beautiful, cherished, loved. He was such an old-fashioned gentleman in his heart, saying that they should stop when she could see that he very obviously wanted to continue. Wanted to very much, by the feel of him. He made her feel so, so – _desirable_.

He was so sweet, so caring. He'd always looked after her, right from when they'd been arguing first-years. Her heart was full with her feelings for him.

Suddenly, Hermione couldn't stop herself from saying what she felt. The words tumbled out of her.

"Ron," she said into his chest, "Ron, I ... I love you."

Ron's breathing stopped. His heart swelled and the room grew still. What? What had she just said? One minute her hand had been – and now she had said ...

She'd said the words that they'd been hedging around for the last few weeks. Ron blinked.

Bloody hell. This was serious. This wasn't playing anymore. In one move, teenage fumblings had suddenly become something else, something different. Something more important.

Ron felt his ego go up one more notch as her words sunk into him. He reached down with his hand and gently moved her chin up so that he could look into her eyes.

Hermione stared at him, unblinking. Her face was honest, beautiful, shining.

Hermione loved him.

He took a deep breath. What was he so worried about really, when it came to the two of them alone on a bed? What did anything matter but this?

She'd actually said the words. He'd been saying them in his heart without even knowing it for months. For years.

The air hung very still around them. His heart was beating wildly against his chest. The candle flickered. They stared into each other's eyes.

Ron hesitated for a fraction of a second. Bloody hell, this was big. This was the biggest thing that had ever happened to him.

It was easy to say the words that had nearly spilled out of him so often over the past few weeks. Sometimes lately it had been a struggle to keep them in.

"I love you too, Hermione," he said fervently, "Have done for ages. You know that. Loved you all of the time, since I don't know when."

They gazed solemnly into each other's eyes. One hand was on her back and he pulled her against him, tight. Gently, reverently, he kissed her.

"Do you, Ron?" She pulled back from his lips. "Do you, really? I ... I thought that you did!" Hermione paused. "You are so _un-perfect_, Ronald Weasley. You are exactly the sort of person that I shouldn't love. But ... but I do. I've fallen head over heels for you. I care about you so much, more than anything." She sighed.

Ron felt a huge grin break out across his face. He felt so happy, he could burst.

Her hand was still between them. She wriggled it free and cuddled into him.

"Let me do things to you, Ron. I love your body. It's so strong. And you do such wonderful things to me! Sometimes I think that you're nervous or ... or something ... when I try to touch you."

Ron held her close. He thought about his fears.

Perhaps with Hermione, he could be honest and just tell her. Ron took a deep breath. Hermione had taken a huge risk, saying those words. Should he take a risk too?

"Hermione," he said slowly, "Course I want to do ... things... with you. Of course I do. You're brilliant. And sexy. I think about you all of the time and about you and me together. It's just that I – worry. Sometimes I think that ..."

Could he say this? Could he tell her the things that he'd been thinking, his worries?

"Sometimes I think that you and me ... that I'll wake up soon, you know? That this isn't real. You could go out with anyone, lots of blokes fancy you. I mean, Krum's an international player and he'd be with you tomorrow, wouldn't he? And me ... well, I'm just me, aren't I?"

He couldn't look at her as he spoke. This was the most honest he had ever been. The most out on a limb. He stroked her hair and spoke over the top of her head.

"Are you sure that this is what you want, Mione? I'm just me. I'm not very good at this bedroom lark. I've got no money. I'm not good looking like Bill and I'm not clever like Percy. I have all of these thoughts in my head sometimes -"

His voice trailed off. There, he'd said it. He'd opened himself up.

Years of being teased by the twins, of being the youngest Weasley brother, of being Harry's sidekick, weighed down upon him. He sighed.

"I love you, Mione. But I know that I'm just not good enough for you, not really."

Hermione looked up into Ron's face. His deep, blue eyes were staring over the top of her head. He looked happy, but anxious as well.

Her un-perfect, perfect Ron – all of these worries and doubts! She'd known that they were there, of course. She'd got to know him so well over the past seven years that his unconfidence just seemed a part of him, a part of Ron like his flaming red hair or the way that he was always hungry. She hadn't thought that his lack of self-belief could affect their burgeoning romance.

She smiled at him as tears sprung into her eyes. His timing was awful, as usual. They were nearly naked on the bed and were the most intimate that they had ever been. Now he chooses to tell me that he worries he's not good enough for me, she thought. Men!

"Ronald Weasley," she said fiercely, "Look at me!"

Ron moved his gaze down to Hermione's eager face. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

"Ronald,shut up. Shut up right now and kiss me. I don't want Victor or anyone else, I want you. As I am trying to demonstrate to you with my hand – _here_."

She wriggled her hand down between them once more.

"_You are not your brothers_. You are _you_. I like _just you_. Just Ron. Just the way that you are. You are brilliant at 'this bedroom lark', as you call it. You leave me breathless, you're so good. You are the most handsome boy that I know with the broadest shoulders and the most muscly thighs and ... Well!"

Ron wiped at the tears in the corner of Hermione's eyes as she reached up and kissed him hard.

"You've killed Horcruxes, Ron," she whispered into his mouth, "And fought Death Eaters. Stop worrying so much about this, about you and me. We're going to be fine. I love you, Ron. If you love me too, that's enough for me. Just relax. Stop worrying. You are the best, greatest friend that I've ever had. You mean everything to me. Now kiss me, please!"

As Hermione spoke and looked at him so passionately, Ron felt something shift deep within him. His heart began to slow.

Suddenly he was breathing, breathing, relaxing. He didn't even have to think about it. He could _breathe_.

Maybe everything was going to be okay. She loved him. Freckly, useless – him. Did anything else matter?

She kissed him powerfully as she determinedly pulled his boxer shorts down and he kicked them off and away. The die was cast.

He sprung up, so achingly hard, into her small, soft hand. She wriggled a little away from him so that she could look down. He tensed again. This was one thing that he had been dreading. Okay, so she'd said that she loved him. But now -

"I might not be very good at this. Might not last that long, you know?"

He had said it. It was out there now, his words hanging in the air. The problem that had worried him and eaten away at him for so long.

She wasn't listening. She was staring, looking down at him with her large, serious eyes. She was enthralled.

"Ron! It's _huge_! I had no idea. You're so _big_. How on earth is that going to fit inside, inside ... me?"

He grinned even more broadly. His uncertainties were fading ...

And she was kissing him and he kissed her back urgently, trying to put into the kiss everything that he was feeling and how much he loved her, truly loved her, and how good she was making him feel ...

And she was touching him; he could see her little hand against him, purple red and straining, straining ...

All of his muscles were tense as he concentrated just on her hand, her small, perfect hand –

This was agony, beautiful agony. Hermione was breathing slowly, deeply, looking into his eyes as she played with him. She rubbed one finger slowly over the wet top of him -

"Do you like that, Ron? Am I doing it right?"

He groaned and grabbed at her hand, placing it back around him. She curled her fingers around the thick base and started to move again, faster, faster ...

"Hermione!" he cried as he bucked against her hand , "Hermione!"

And he shot onto her, over her stomach, up onto her breasts, onto the long ends of her hair, with a great rush.

It was perfect, beautiful ...

His Hermione; her hand on him. She loved him ...

Perfect.

"Ron!" she said and he felt himself blushing as he grinned at her. "It's everywhere! Did I do it right? Did you like it?"

He nodded, feeling blissful. She kissed him, snuggling against his chest, her hand still on him. He stroked the back of her head, lost in the feel of her hair.

She didn't fancy anyone else. She didn't think that he was all that bad at all of this. She'd said that he was handsome.

She'd even seemed quite impressed when she'd taken off his shorts.

"Ron, can we ... you know ... " Hermione's voice was small, "Can we, er ..._soon_, please, Ron?" He was still grinning broadly as she looked up into his eyes, "If that's alright with you?"

Breathe, Ron, he thought to himself as she settled against him. She loves you. You and she just ... and she wants to ... Everything was going to work out just fine.

He was still grinning as they drifted off to sleep together, his steady even breathing mingling with hers. The Room kept them warm and safe as it had done for generations of Hogwarts' young lovers, and would do for generations to come. The candle guttered and quietly went out.


	6. Chapter 6 Learning the Last Spell

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters etc etc which are the property of Ms. Rowling and various companies. I do not own unconfident, naive, oh-so-sweet-and-sexy Ron Weasley. Unfortunately._

**Chapter Six – Learning the Last Spell**

Ron grumpily threw his belongings into the open school trunk. Items of clothing were scattered haphazardly around his bed in the Gryffindor Tower and over the floor.

Two Quidditch tops covered in mud lay thrown over his small desk and a bottle of ink had rolled unstoppered onto the carpet, a green ooze spilling out over a lone orange sock emblazoned with golden snitches. He stormily aimed a trainer at the trunk.

"Hey!" Harry called from his side of the room, "Watch what you're doing, mate! That shoe nearly hit me, Ron!"

Harry was similarly packing and the space around his bed looked just as messy as his friend's. Next to Harry, Neville was folding his clothes and placing them neatly into his own trunk. He was humming quietly to himself as he worked methodically, folding quickly and packing his belongings into the trunk tightly around packets of seeds and cardboard boxes containing bulbs and cuttings.

Neville had been humming snatches of dance music ever since the Leavers Ball and today it was more than Ron could stand.

"Oi, Neville!" he called out across the room, "Put a sock in it, can't you!"

Ron moodily kicked out at a pair of pyjama bottoms.

"Why can't they have taught us anything bloody useful in the seven years we've been here, like a good household spell or two? I mean, my mum would have all of this done with a swish of her wand by now!"

Ron glanced sulkily over to Seamus whose bed was by the large window in the tower.

"Hey Seamus, how come you're nearly finished?" he demanded, raising his eyebrows, "You had masses more stuff to pack than me! I've hardly been here at all this year!"

Seamus grinned smugly as he placed a jumper into his trunk and turned to close the lid.

"Lavender packed most of my things for me last night," he admitted, giving Ron an annoyingly smug look. "That's what a girlfriend's for, you know. That amongst other things. She's a great lass, is Lavender. Nice and house-wifely. She's coming over to mine during the summer. Said that she can't wait to see Ireland. And me mam's away so we'll have the place all to ourselves."

"Git," Ron answered as he flopped down onto the bed, knocking onto the floor a heap of tangled socks and t-shirts. "Can't see Hermione offering to do my packing for me."

"Oh, I don't know," Harry said as he dumped a pile of old parchment into the bin by the dormitory door, "I think she'd quite like it. After two weeks of not seeing you, she'll be feeling all motherly and tender. You know how she likes to look after you."

"Git," Ron said again and lay back onto his bed, staring up at the canopied ceiling. "I haven't even seen her since I got back yesterday. Hippogriff measles!" he moaned, "I mean, who catches measles for Merlin's sake when they're eighteen!"

"Only you could!" Harry laughed, "Only you could finish the year in such style, mate!"

Ron stared gloomily at the velvet linings above his bed. Yeah, no-one but him could have finished their time at school so spectacularly.

The week in between the last exam and the Ball had been great. The hot, July sun had shone every day and he'd had a really good time, lazing in the grounds with his friends and with Hermione, playing games of Quidditch and popping into Hogsmead for a quick butterbeer with Harry whenever the mood took them. He had felt carefree.

School was nearly over; he and Hermione were getting along brilliantly and each night in the Room of Requirements was even better than the night before. He and Harry had filled in their application forms for Auror training and sent them off by first-class owl. It had seemed that everything was finally coming together for him.

When he'd started to feel unwell during the Ball he'd put it down to the firewhisky that Dean had slipped into the pumpkin punch. But by the time that the Ball ended and couples were drifting away to quiet spots around the castle, he'd felt really ill.

As he and Hermione left the Great Hall, he'd sat down heavily by the staircase and had not been able to stand up. Arms folded crossly, Hermione stared at him at first but then exclaimed loudly as huge red spots suddenly popped up all over Ron's hands and face.

Hippogriff measles, probably caught from one of Hagrid's beloved creatures. Now that Hagrid was spending half of his time in France with his giant lady love, things had definitely started to slip with the care of the magical animals at Hogwarts.

Two weeks spent in the infirmary with Madame Pomfrey, lying in bed and looking quite dreadful. His last two weeks at school, which he should have spent enjoying himself and spending time with Hermione. Two weeks in which he had planned to take their relationship that one crucial step further.

The cruelty of it. He'd been visited in the infirmary regularly by grinning seventh years and by Ginny, bringing him totally useless things like chocolate frogs when he had absolutely no appetite at all. He'd had to listen to his friend's boasting tales of what they had got up to in various quiet classrooms after the Ball had finished; the story of what had happened when Filch the caretaker had found Fred and George's forgotten last secret stash of firecrackers; had to listen to Harry saying nothing whatsoever about his sister and letting his imagination moodily fill in the rest.

Two weeks! He'd felt like he was in Azkaban.

He'd been released from Madame Pomfrey's clutches yesterday afternoon and immediately had fallen asleep in his dormitory bed. He hadn't even seen Hermione yet today.

Now he had to pack before breakfast and lug his trunk down to the common room along with everyone else. Filch would begin sending the baggage to their various homes later that morning. Once students turned seventeen and had gained their Apparation License, most disapparated home and didn't take the Hogwarts Express but apparating with a bulky trunk in tow wasn't pleasant.

It was all so unfair and so bloody typical, Ron thought as he kicked out at a spare book lying on the corner of his bed. So bloody typical of his luck.

"It's strange to think that tonight is the last night that we'll spend in here," commented Neville as he placed some books into his trunk. "Do you remember our first night all together when we were eleven? I was so nervous; I thought that I'd never sleep."

Neville sat on his bed and idly smoothed the cover.

"And tonight's the last night that we'll sleep here. So much has happened in the last seven years, aye boys?"

"Some of us don't plan on sleeping much tonight," Seamus sniggered. "I'm going to be spending as much time as possible somewhere else with Lavender. And sleeping won't be much on my mind!"

Seamus turned to Harry who was gathering clothes in his arms and dropping them carelessly into his trunk.

"I reckon old Harry's got some plans for tonight too. You haven't been in your own bed very much this last week, have you Harry!"

Ron sat up abruptly and threw Harry a darkening look.

"Hey, what's that?" he demanded. "What do you mean, Harry's not been in his own bed very much?"

Harry looked sheepish and dived under his bed to retrieve some shoes.

"Thanks, Seamus," he called as he crawled underneath the four-poster, "Thanks a lot, mate."

"Harry, you ..." Ron began but was interrupted by the sound of Seamus's mobile phone. The FredBerry was vibrating wildly as Seamus picked it up from his bedside cabinet to read his text.

"Lavender says that Hermione says to turn on your phone," he called out to Ron who immediately jumped up to find his mobile. "She's been texting you since last night and is kinda wondering if you're gonna reply?"

Turning on his phone, Ron tried not to think about Harry and his sister. Harry was his mate. Rather _him_ with Ginny than some of the oiks that she'd gone out with in the past. He waited for the FredBerry to pick up a signal as Harry quickly finished throwing his belongings into the trunk and shut the lid with a noisy bang.

I should be glad that at least one of us is having some fun, Ron mused darkly to himself as his phone started to vibrate and a stream of texts flashed up onto the small screen. I am not going to be jealous because that would be far too freaky. Jealous 'cos he's doing things with _my sister_? Weird!

"Er, mate?" Harry said, "I'm finished. Do you want some help?"

Ron looked up from his texts and shot Harry a not too unfriendly look.

"Hermione's coming up," he replied, "She'll help me. She's sent loads of texts since yesterday. I must have leant on the bloody thing in my sleep and turned it off or something."

"Guess she's missed you then!" Seamus grinned as he started to drag his trunk to the door of the tower. "You two have got a lot of catching up to do! I'm going for breakfast. See you lot down there."

Neville was wrapping a thick, brown cord around his trunk.

"Do you think that Hogwarts will miss us, Harry?" he said, straightening up. "I mean, this has been the most eventful seven years that the castle has ever seen. So much has happened since you joined as a first year. Chamber of Secrets, the Battle, the Twizard Tournament – it's not been a normal seven years, has it?"

"All down to you I think, Neville," Harry answered as he locked his trunk and headed for the door, "I mean, people _say_ that all of that stuff happened 'cos of me, but maybe it was all to do with you. You started here on exactly the same day as me. I think you've been the one who's jinxed the last seven years, mate!"

Harry smiled. "The castle and everyone within it will enjoy a bit of peace and quiet now that we've left, a period of tranquillity – until the next generation gets here, at least! Come on, let's leave the lovebirds. Something tells me that they might want a bit of privacy."

"Right –o," Neville said and pulled his trunk forwards. "I'm going to spend the day with Luna. She wants to show me some unusual flowers that she's found on the edge of the Forest. She's great, is Luna. Can't wait to go on holiday with her next week. We're going to hunt for Grimbles in India. Luna's father swears that they're not invisible. I thought that Gran would blow a fuse when I told her about Luna but she just smiled and sniffed into her hanky. She said I'm a grown man now and must do as I think best!"

Neville's face was incredulous as he turned to face Ron. "Fancy my gran saying that! See you later, Ron."

Neville started to hum a snatch of music to himself again as he headed out of the door.

"See you later, Ron," Harry said. "Don't over-tax yourself when Hermione comes up. Remember, you're in a very delicate state of health right now. Fragile. You've only just come back from the infirmary –"

He ducked just in time to avoid the book that Ron flung at the door.

Ron stared around the empty room. Neville had been right. So much had happened since they'd arrived as nervous first years.

Some of his time at Hogwarts had been frightening, very frightening. Professor Quirrell, breaking his leg, Ginny being possessed by Tom Riddle's diary, being chased by giant spiders in the Forest - and so much more. The Battle that had taken place here in the castle. Losing Fred and Lupin and all of the others.

Ron stood up as he heard light footsteps running up the dormitory's stairs. Some of his time at Hogwarts had been brilliant though. He'd made friends, played Quidditch, fallen in love. What would the next seven years bring him?

He ran a hand through his hair as Hermione came bouncing into the room, her face wreathed in smiles.

Oh yes, he thought as she hurled herself into his arms, this is what the next seven years will bring me, I hope. It was time to leave school behind and to move on. He'd outgrown being here long ago. Hermione kissed Ron happily.

"Seamus told Lavender that you turned your phone off, you idiot! How are you feeling?"

They sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You look great, Ron. A bit thinner perhaps." Hermione ran her hand up one of Ron's arms. "A bit less muscle here, I think."

"Oi! Don't make fun of your poor, ill boyfriend! Come here and show me how pleased you are that I'm back in the land of the living."

"But you haven't had breakfast yet, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed as Ron pulled her down onto the bed and started to nuzzle into the warmth of her neck.

"You need to build up your strength. Ronald Weasley, are you even listening to me?"

"Hmm," was all of the reply she received as Ron began in earnest to show her just how much better he was feeling. Soon their breathing had quickened and all thoughts of packing had gone completely from Ron's head.

Hermione's hair – he'd missed the feel of it and the way that it curled around his fingers. He loved it's chestnut hues and the way it fell onto her shoulders and draped over her breasts. When she was excited, it seemed to grow wilder and even curlier. He loved when they were close and it swished over his body, soft and warm.

Hermione's eyes – so deep and brown, serious and feeling. When she looked at him he felt that she was seeing the real him, the real Ron, with all of his faults and all of his uncertainties – and all of his good points. When they kissed, her eyes sparkled.

Hermione's long, long legs – he'd really missed those. He liked to look at them and to feel them, to stroke his hand along her sleek thighs and to feel them tremble. He liked it when they rubbed against him as he explored her body.

Blimey, he'd missed her. She'd come every day to the infirmary but he'd been in no fit state to enjoy her visits properly. Unlike now, when he suddenly felt amazingly well and full of energy.

A slow buzz was creeping through his body as their kisses heated up and the dormitory suddenly felt very warm.

"Ron, slow down," Hermione whispered as his hand snaked up beneath her skirt, "You really do need to go to breakfast, you know."

Ron didn't feel like slowing down. The dormitory was empty and for once they had it all to themselves. They were lying on his bed. He hadn't kissed her for a fortnight.

"Hermione, all that kept me sane in that bloody infirmary was thinking about what we could do together once I'd got out."

Ron reached for his wand lying on the bedside cupboard.

"Seamus's been boasting all morning about him and Lavender. Harry's not slept in his bed all week and I can guess where he's been every night, the smarmy git. Even Neville bloody Longbottom has apparently got off with Luna which is a blooming miracle as Neville doesn't know one end of a girl from a broomstick."

Ron flicked his wand and the door to the tower locked with a soft click. The curtains around the four poster bed swished down and they were enclosed in a hazy, pale red glow as the light from the dormitory windows shone through the rich, velvet hangings.

"I missed you," he continued as she stared surprised at his quick and wordless magic, "I missed kissing you, I missed holding you. I missed talking to you when it's just us together. I bloody well missed all of our last two weeks at school because I caught a sodding disease that three year olds usually get! Now shut up about breakfast and let me show you how brilliant I'm feeling now that I'm back."

"Ron," she said, her eyes wide with astonishment, "You just performed silent spells. You didn't speak! I've never seen you do that before. That was really good!"

"Always that tone of surprise. Come here, you."

"Always the emotional range of a teaspoon. You only think with one part of your body when we're alone."

She snuggled closer to him and wrapped her arms around his back.

"Correct," he answered, "As usual, Miss Smarty Witch. And it just so happens to be the part of my body that has missed you the most so it needs your fullest attention."

She murmured softly as he quickly removed her t-shirt and started to work on the button of her jeans, "I meant it when I said that you need to eat. Aren't you supposed to be _recovering_? What _are_ you _doing_?"

Their kisses grew heated. Ron couldn't think about anything except the feel of Hermione. He couldn't get enough of her. She felt fantastic; she smelt even better. Her skin against his. Her hands travelling over him, all of him.

They explored each other's bodies hungrily. Hermione's sighs intensified as Ron gloried in her soft, warm smoothness. His breathing laboured as the heat between them became electrifying.

Muted sounds drifted in through the open dormitory window. Breakfast was finishing and pupils were spilling out onto the warm, lush lawn in front of the castle. Ron and Hermione kissed and touched, lost in each other.

Their clothes quickly melted away until only their underwear remained, and then that too was gone.

With a jolt Ron suddenly realised that he was lying on top of Hermione. A naked, wriggling Hermione. Their kisses had become frantic and needy and one minute he had been leaning into her, the next minute leaning _ove_r _her_. Out of the blue, Ron realised they were now in a certain, interesting position, Hermione ranged underneath his long, tense body. Bloody hell, how had that happened? He pulled himself up short and took a much needed gasp of air.

Ron leant his forehead against Hermione's. They were both breathing heavily.

"Oh!" he said, looking into her eyes, "Er ... sorry. I didn't realise ..."

Ron felt his ears start to turn red. He made to move to the side of her.

"No, don't move."

Hermione's arms tightened over his back. She looked shyly up into Ron's face.

"Don't move. Don't stop."

Ron froze. His heart beat so fiercely that he was sure she could hear it. A gentle blush stole over Hermione's cheeks.

"Ron, I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Today is our last day at school. I think that we need to complete our education, Ron."

Their lips were millimetres apart as Ron looked into her shining eyes.

"We have one last day left at school, one last day of our official education. There's a spell which I haven't had the opportunity to use yet. I don't think that I should leave school without learning about it."

She was smiling bashfully up at him.

"A spell, Mione? A spell?"

"A very important spell," Hermione said hesitatingly, "The, the ... Contraceptionus Ultra spell."

"Oh!" His eyes widened, "You mean ..."

She nodded slowly. "If that's what you want, too. What do you think, Ronald?"

She looked shy and uncertain lying underneath him. Ron felt his heart catch fire. Yesterday he'd been on a bed in the infirmary, bored witless and wondering what to do. Today he was on a bed with Hermione, warm and naked, and she was saying that they should ... that finally they should ... Bloody hell!

He leant into her and kissed her hard and passionately.

"Hermione, are you sure?"

She nodded. He kissed her again, fervently.

"Erm, I don't know the Contraceptionus Ultra spell."

"It's a good job that I do then. I learnt it in the fourth year."

"The fourth year! Blimey, a bit early, wouldn't you say?" He grinned at her, that lop-sided wide smile that she loved so much.

"Idiot! Stop talking, Ronald. We need to complete our education."

He touched her reverently. She was so beautiful. Hermione's breathing quickened as Ron's hands moved over her. He loved the way that her skin felt against him, silky and smooth. The soft skin of her stomach was hot against his hardness; her breasts were warm as they rubbed against the crinkly hairs on his chest.

"I love your skin, 'Mione," he breathed into her neck, "You feel amazing."

"Ron, you're very _broad_ down there, aren't you? You will go, er ... slowly, won't you?"

"Hush." He kissed her tenderly. He suddenly realised that she was nervous, his confident 'I know everything' witch. He felt his heart swell.

"We'll go as slowly as you like. Well, as slowly as I can manage. I love you."

"I love you, Ronald."

"You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

Tenderly, he moved more fully over her and she moved her legs to accommodate him. Ron positioned himself carefully between her thighs and placed himself against her.

Merlin, this was unbelievable. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at her. Hermione screwed up her eyes and said the words of the spell, taking care to enunciate each word slowly and clearly.

"Now?"

"Now."

He was feeling breathless. The head of him was against her softness and he could feel the heat coming from her. Her thighs were on either side of him, pressing gently against him. Ron leant on his arms and stared into Hermione's eyes.

The urge to push forwards with his hips was over-powering. Every muscle in his body was straining; his heart was bursting with the effort of controlling himself. He was _right there_, against her. She was open to him, vulnerable, soft and yielding, her hands on his back.

Her eyes sank into his, so chocolate brown and beautiful and trusting.

In the heat of the moment, in the sudden realisation of what was about to happen, his nerves were forgotten. He didn't think about himself at all. All he could think about was her. He had to get this just right, to make it just right for her. His Hermione; his beautiful, clever witch.

His protectiveness of Hermione, always just under the surface, rose up.

"I might hurt you."

"Ron, you feel so large ... "

"Mione, we should stop. Bloody hell, I _am_ going to hurt you_, I know it_!"

He was so handsome. His bright hair was flopping over his forehead in the way that she loved and curling around his ears. The muscles on his arms were huge; his whole body was hard and muscled and so – _manly_. His face looked serious; concerned and loving. What had she ever done to deserve this brilliant, sensitive fantastic boy?

"No, don't stop! Not now, Ron!" She looked up at his face, "It's okay."

She was amazing. He wanted her so badly.

He was wonderful. He was worried about hurting her!

"Mione, I might not ... I might not be able to, once we start ... might not be able to go carefully," he mumbled.

"Shush." She pulled him towards her. "Shush, Ron."

It was now or never. Ron sucked in a deep breath. He slowly inched his hips forwards, easing the tip of him into her.

Bloody hell, she felt incredible. Small, hot, smooth, consuming. Ron looked into her eyes and pulled back a fraction, then pushed forwards again moving into her further. Hermione wasn't breathing. Her eyes were wide. He felt her hands tighten on his back.

Sensation streaked through him. He closed his eyes and moaned.

"Mione, Mione ...!"

The muscles on his forearms were bulging as he moved backwards once more and then forwards further, further ... ... Hermione's fingers dug into his back. She tensed and he sensed a cobweb of a barrier. He pushed through and with a groan he slid into the heart of her.

He was deep within her and his heart was bursting with the feel of her around him and along the length of him. He drew in a deep breath.

"Ron!" she said, "You're, you're ... Gosh, Ron!"

He kissed her mouth softly.

"Hermione! Are you okay?"

She nodded. He grinned. Then groaned as Hermione experimentally wiggled her hips.

"Blimey, don't do that!" He let out the breath that he hadn't known he was holding.

He pulled back slowly and that felt just as wonderful as pushing forwards. With a moan in his throat he pulled halfway out of her and then all of the way forwards, their bodies coming together.

He could sense every one of his muscles as he started to move, forwards and backwards, slowly and then slightly faster. He felt strong, manly, full, in charge. One of her legs moved up as Hermione opened herself fully to him.

He felt fantastic; this was amazing and brilliant and wonderful. The feel of her body as they came together when he surged into her, her breasts crushed against his chest. The feel of her hands moving along his broad back as his body slid into hers, again and again. The small sounds that she was making and the fluttering of her hands on him. The feel of her skin, the way that she felt moving underneath him, the slickness of her ...

He was panting, moving more quickly. She was suddenly more fully open and wetter, more relaxed. Her other leg moved up slightly and he was pushing faster and his heart was beating wildly. He moaned in his throat as he arched into her, pounded into her, poured his heart into her ...

And with a cry he was spent. He heard her sigh his name. His head was spinning as he throbbed powerfully deep inside of her, the tight muscles of his buttocks clenching and unclenching as the spasms rocked him.

"Ron!" she cried, "Oh, Ron!"

His heart was pounding. Everything grew still as his whole being focussed on that one point where they were joined. He gently collapsed on top of her, taking his weight onto his arms.

"Mione!" He kissed her roughly. "Bloody hell, Hermione!"

When they surfaced some time later, he couldn't stop smiling. He was beaming broadly. Her head was on his chest and he stroked her wild, springy hair. Fantastic; he felt absolutely bloody fantastic. That had been – perfect.

He felt something warm and wet on his chest. Was she crying? Sodding hell, had he hurt her?

"Hey, are you okay? You're crying!" Gently he lifted back the heavy mane of her hair so that he could see her face.

"I'm sorry! Did I hurt you, Mione? I got, well, carried away."

Hermione sniffed and smiled wetly up at him.

"Silly, I'm crying cos I'm happy. That was wonderful, lovely - amazing. I'm so happy, Ron."

Women. He'd never understand them. He stroked her hair again as she sniffed onto his chest.

"You were so strong! And so careful. I love you, Ron. That was, that was ... I can't even find the words to describe it!"

Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Unbelievable good? You're going to tell all of Gryffindor House how bloody epic I am?"

"Oh - you!" She pummelled his chest.

They lay together quietly in the peacefulness of the canopied bed.

Later, scraping sounds drifted up to the dormitory. Trunks were being dragged out of the common room below.

"Ron, I just realised. You haven't packed!"

Hermione sat up and looked around her. The end of Ron's bed was still littered with clothes and belongings.

"_Why_ haven't you packed yet, Ronald?"

Ron's stomach suddenly grumbled loudly.

"Oh my stars, and you're hungry! What kind of a girlfriend am I? You've only just left the infirmary wing and here I am, not even making sure that you eat!" Hermione looked shocked.

Ron crossed his arms behind his head and leant back comfortably. My, she looked beautiful, all tousled and indignant. It was a sight that he could get used to.

"Stop fretting, Mione. We can raid the kitchens in a minute. You can help me to pack. I think that we have just spent the morning exactly as we should have done. It is our last day at school, after all." He felt relaxed, languorous.

But she was up and moving, not really listening to him, throwing on her clothes hastily and looking around wildly for her wand.

"Right. Yes, well – look, I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall in half an hour. I need to shower. I'll ask the kitchen elves for a picnic basket and we can have a late breakfast on the lawn."

"Hey – "

She was almost dressed before he realised what she was doing. He sat up fully. Snapping on her bra and pulling on her crumpled t-shirt, Hermione briskly pulled back the hangings of the bed. Light flooded into their sanctuary, bright and harsh. Ron squinted.

"The spell that you need is Pickety Totallus Pack," Hermione said as she pushed her feet into her sandals. "Come on, Ron. I'll meet you in the Hall."

"What - "

She turned and leant over him on the bed, bending her head to kiss him sweetly on the mouth.

"Ronald Weasley, I love you so much right now that I could burst. But you need feeding, and so do I. I suddenly feel very hungry. I wonder what could have caused such an appetite? Don't be late."

And with that she was gone, sweeping purposefully from the room.

Ron collapsed back onto the bed with a groan. Bloody woman. She'd gone, just like that! She'd be the death of him. His stomach rumbled again.

He hadn't even told her how he felt, not really. How bloody brilliant he felt. All because of her. Blimey, she was fantastic. Ron sat up and swung his legs onto the floor and stared at the woollen rug beneath his feet. And now she'd gone, probably organising the kitchen elves into action even as he sat there.

There was so much that he wanted to say to her, to ask her. After the summer, what was going to happen then? Where was she going to live if she was accepted into the Ministry's law programme? Back with her parents again?

He might be accepted for the Auror training, with a bit of luck. They'd both be in London. Could they – could they – live together? He'd been going to ask her about them, about their future. When and if they ever ended up in bed together, he'd kind of planned that he'd ask her then.

But she'd shot off – shot off to forage for some breakfast for him. Organising, managing, over-bearing, bossy ... caring, sweet Hermione. He sighed and stood up.

Right, half an hour. Ron shook his head and stretched over to reach for a pair of boxer shorts. Half an hour to sort out all of this – and then he'd meet her and sort out everything else. The important things, like telling her how much he cared for her and how he wanted to wake up with her next to him every day.

He glanced back at the crumpled sheets of his bed. The thought of waking up with her everyday made him grin broadly.

Ron quickly washed at the basin in the corner of the tower, still smiling widely. They'd just ... here, in the Gryffindor Tower ... on the last ever day of school, in the four-poster bed that he'd slept in for all those years. Unbelievable! Un-bloody-believable.

He dressed quickly and picked up his wand. Now, what was that spell?

With a few quick swishes, his packing was almost complete. The sun was pouring through the window. He thought of her as clothing flew through the air and books fell into his trunk. What she had said, how she had felt. The moment when he'd claimed her as his. His, and nobody else's. Just the merest thought of someone else lying on a bed with her made him see red.

Quickly the packing was finished except for his bedside cupboard where he kept his more personal things. Ron hurriedly moved over to the cupboard. He needed to get downstairs as fast as he could to check that Hermione was okay, to check that everything was alright. After all, he had just completely lost the plot while he was inside her. Hadn't managed to go slowly at all, not once they'd got started. And she'd said, had said brilliantly when he thought about it, that he _was_ a bit large -

Ron opened the cupboard door. Inside, George's box was glowing brightly on the top shelf.

He'd completely forgotten about the box. Completely forgotten about his nerves and his worries. Ron picked it up and sat down on the edge of the bed.

He'd thought only about her, about not hurting her too much and about how she was feeling.

Ron gulped. This was immense. He suddenly felt very weird; very – he groped for a suitable word in his mind - very, well, ... grown up? His feelings didn't matter anymore as much as hers did. He had Hermione to think about now, to protect and to worry about.

Ron slowly opened the small, square box. Why was it glowing?

He'd wondered before about what was inside. All of those stupid worries that he'd had! He'd been an idiot, engrossed in himself. As he opened the lid he saw a square of parchment folded up. Ron smoothed it out and read the note the box contained, recognising instantly George's untidy handwriting.

_Dear Brother of Mine,_

_If you are reading this then – Congratulations! You have passed the test and been accepted by your sexy little witch. You have finally done the Dirty Deed. The box wouldn't open otherwise. Well done!_

_There is no secret to how to take a witch to bed. Even if there was, you don't need it. You're a Weasley. We're brilliant in bed, all of us. Even Percy, so rumour goes, and if that great prat can satisfy a girl then you've got no problems._

_Have fun with Hermione. I'm guessing it's her you're bedding? Well, she has got great ... Only kidding, little bro! I solemnly promise to keep my hands to myself when I see her next._

_Just wait till I tell Bill what you've been up to._

_Or maybe Mum?_

_Stop worrying so much, Ronnikins. You're a Weasley. You'll be great. You don't need any help._

_Have fun. Please send graphic pictures of The Great Event to warm the lonely cockles of your favourite big brother,_

_George_

_P.S. Beware of Weasley's Super Strong Swimmers. I mean, Mum and Dad didn't exactly plan to have seven children!_

Ron closed his eyes and groaned out loud. The git! The great big, stupid, crass, unbearable git!

He angrily crumpled the note in the palm of his hand, and then pulled back in surprise as it and the box suddenly faded away and vanished in a puff of pale pink smoke, leaving a smoke ring in the shape of a love heart.

He sat on the bed stunned. He'd trusted George. The box hadn't contained any secret to stamina and success after all. George had been kidding him, probably laughing himself silly in his flat above the shop as he read Ron's texts and sent back his words of wisdom.

The great, fat git.

But wait a minute – Ron paused and thought.

Actually, George was right in a way, wasn't he. He'd lasted through Hermione seducing him in the Room of Requirements for all of those weeks. He'd just managed to finally take her to bed and that had gone well, bloody well if he thought about it. He hadn't embarrassed himself, had he?

Ron's anger started to fade. A smile slowly spread across his face.

George, the stupid git. The insensitive, know-it-all, sodding awful, best brother he had. Other than Bill, of course.

George's box had given him the confidence to overcome his nerves. George's box, with nothing inside of it that was in any way useful, had made him less nervous and more relaxed over the last few weeks. With the box in his pocket, he'd managed to do all sorts of things with Hermione. When he thought about it, the box had been his saving grace.

The empty, useless box. Had he done it all himself then? Was he really okay at things, without anyone else's help?

Ron grinned. Maybe he was.

His phone vibrated and he flicked it open quickly to read Hermione's text.

She was waiting for him. He waved his wand at the bedside cupboard and his last few belongings fell into the battered trunk. Hastily slamming shut the lid and locking it, Ron started to drag the heavy trunk towards the bedroom door.

She was waiting for him. The sun was shining and she had a picnic breakfast all ready to share with him on the lawn. He would tell her what he wanted to happen next, after the summer, and hopefully she would agree. They could get a flat together. He could wake up with his bossy, managing, wicked, sexy, clever witch every day. Every day.

Everything was going to be fine. Just fine. Perhaps.

He didn't need a box with a secret in order to be a success. He'd helped to defeat one of the darkest wizards of all time. He'd finished school and hopefully scraped enough N.E.W.T.S. to become an Auror. He was alright at Quidditch and at lots of things really. He had great friends, great brothers - and her. Hermione. Hermione who loved him.

He was Ronald Weasley. Just Ron. Just himself. He pulled his broad shoulders back and raised up his strong chin. Yeah, he was _Ronald Weasley_. Being Just Ron was going to be enough.

Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be great. It was time to go out into the world and to find out. Ron took a deep breath and headed for the door.

Without a backwards look he hurried down the stairs, dragging his trunk behind him. Hermione was waiting for him. Waiting just for him.

The sun shone through the window of Gryffindor Tower and into the empty dormitory. Five beds stood there, unmade and untidy, their five owners out somewhere in the sunshine, enjoying their last day of school.

On the lawn outside of the tower a tall, handsome boy with bright red hair was striding across the grass, a picnic basket in one hand and a girl with a riot of unruly brown curls clutched tightly in the other. Striding out confidently into his future. Their future together.

**The End**


End file.
